Phase One: Genesis
by The Freelancer Collaboration
Summary: Book One of the Project Freelancer Saga, brought to you by a collaboration of writers, determined to document the rise and fall of the mysterious Project Freelancer, from its ambitious origins to its shattering fall. From the point of view of a variety of members of the project, from the Director to the various Freelancers, as we discover the true reason as to why we were here.
1. Prologue

**(A/N) Hey guys, NicKenny here welcoming you to a fantastic collaboration of some of the best RvB writers out there, bringing you the full story of Project Freelancer, from the very beginning onwards. Ambitious, we know, but as the Director always says, "It is important to have ambition!" This is the prologue, as a little bit of a teaser for all of you, and chapter one will be going up on Saturday, and I'm very excited to see how it goes down. We've got some great writers taking part and I've been twitching each day, yearning to get this all up and running. So here we go, I guess. Updates will hopefully take place every Saturday and Wednesday, barring unforeseen complications. For those wishing to take part, we'll have the next batch of Freelancers coming by in a few months, so just keep checking this fanfic out! We'll keep you posted. We're not going anywhere. We hope you'll all enjoy this, and support us as we document the reason to why we're all here.**

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**Prologue**

**The Director**

**Written by NicKenny**

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_"At the end of your life, you will never regret not having passed one more test, not winning one more verdict or not closing one more deal. You will regret time not spent with a husband, a friend, a child, or a parent." _– Barbara Bush.

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I hear her steps grow quieter and quieter behind me as she walks away, leaving me alone but for the raging figure floating above my shoulder. I long to call her back, to apologise for all I've put her through, but I cannot. The time when apologies could have bridged this rift between us had passed by long ago. My chance for redemption was long gone. It was time I resigned myself to my fate.

"You were my greatest creation." I murmur, the finality of the situation finally dawning on me. This would be our last goodbye. Except I'd never say goodbye…

The figure by my shoulder snorts angrily, assuming that I was talking to him, practically vibrating with anger. "I don't know what I am," he retorts, disdain evident in his voice. "But I do know this - I'm more than just a copy of you. I'm better than you."

My eyes remain fixed on the screen in front of me as I quietly reply,"I wasn't speaking to you." At some level his words resonate with me. I can hardly deny their truth after all. I may be many things, but a liar isn't one of them, especially not the kind who lie to themselves.

Epsilon leaves the room, shaking his head slowly, leaving me alone with my thoughts. I wonder what he must think of me, and I know that his hatred is justified. However, I have only two regrets, and my actions towards him and his kind are not one of them. Everything I have done, I would do all over again, just to have her back in my arms. That had been the purpose of the last few years, after all.

That was all I ever wanted. I have given up so much over my life, but I would give up the rest, just for one more day by her side. But no one can reverse death. No one can turn the clock back. No one can fix all of their mistakes.

_Not even me._

I raise my head, lost in my own self-pity and regret, and make one of the last requests I'll ever make to the one companion who always stood by my side, who remained with me from the very beginning until now – the end. "Play it again, F.I.L.S.S."

A woman's soft voice swiftly replies, just as it always has before. Computers tended to remain the same way they had always been. AI were no different. "Beginning playback."

The video begins to play again and my eyes drink in every motion, ears absorb every word. If only I could reach through the screen and be back there, in that moment, the last time I ever a saw her.

The last time I ever truly felt complete.

I wish I could go back, take back every harsh word, every argument, every stupid comment. I wish I had been the man I should have been, the man I would be if only she was here with me. But I'd never get that chance now.

I sigh and make another last request of my AI companion, regardless of how much it hurts me. "Thank you, F.I.L.S.S. Now, I would like you to erase all our files except for this one."

She hesitates, which I find curious. An AI of her level shouldn't be able to hesitate; they shouldn't be able to express real emotion. "All our files? Does that include me, Director?"

I nod to myself, blinking away the tears which form in the corner of my eyes, but managing to keep my voice level. "It has been a pleasure working with you, F.I.L.S.S. I am sorry."

I really was. If there was any way I could ensure her survival I would. This was no way to repay her, but unfortunately I had no other choice. I couldn't risk someone finding her, learning all that she knew. I was already going to be labelled as a monster; I didn't want to supply them with extra ammunition. When the history books are written, my name will go down in the annals as a villain, but that was never how I intended all of this to turn out. I had such high hopes in the beginning. How had I fallen so far?

"And, you, as well, Director." She replies, although I barely hear this, my eyes locked on the screen in front of me, staring into the eyes of the woman that I once loved. The woman that I still love. The woman I have never been able to get over, never been able to forget.

_So this is it, _I muse. _This is where the great Director of Project Freelancer finally meets his end. _But first, one final order. "And, before you do, please shut down all the facility systems as well. Take everything offline."

She whirs away to herself, almost…puzzled. _Curious. _She then informs me of facts that I already know, not fully understanding what I was asking her to do. After all, this sort of thing isn't something that AI's usually go into. It isn't a topic they'd be fully able to understand. "Director, this is a sealed facility. If I shut down all the systems, life support would not..."

I cut her off, this time my voice is filled with authority; commanding, not simply asking as I had before. "Thank you, F.I.L.S.S. Shut them all down. Lock me in."

She whirs away again, clearly contemplating on my order, once again something that she technically shouldn't be able to do, until finally replying with a grudging: "Alright."

Does she understand the full meaning behind my order? Maybe. It matters little now.

A few seconds pass before she does something which would have immediately piqued my interest, had I not been so focused on the woman on the screen in front of me, and on ignoring the gun on the table to my left. She asks a question that neither assists her in carrying out the task at hand, nor will help her to do so in the future. Something that should be impossible for an AI programmed the way she was. "Was the project a success? Did you find what you were looking for?"

I smile to myself, amused at her question, although something inside me dies at this question. What I would have given to be able to answer yes… "No. No, I did not. But I believe I might have come very close. I wish... I wish I knew."

I guess that's all it comes down to, in the end. Wishing. I wish I could have talked her out of joining the UNSC. I wish I knew what I could have done to bring her back. I wish I knew where I went wrong. I wish I knew if there was a world after this one. I wish I knew whether she'd be waiting for me.

I wish so many things, but know so little. So this is how it ends? Wondering, terrified, like a child in a thunderstorm. So this is how the great Director Leonard Church goes out, not with a bang but with a whisper, like a candle in a gale.

F.I.L.S.S is silent for a moment, and when she replies I'm barely listening once again, staring at the video of Allison as if by reaching out my hand and touching the screen I would be able to pass straight through.

"I see."

Does she though? Can she truly understand the meaning behind those words? Can she truly understand how much I wish I could have answered yes, how much I wish I knew if there was anything I could've done?

I dismiss her, my hand stretching out and grasping the gun, shaking slightly as I murmur: "Perhaps the next time around."

I raise the pistol to my chin, my hand shaking, a solitary tear trickling down the left side of my face as I stare into Allison's eyes for the last time, soaking in the last moments we had spent together, my mind lost in the past.

"It has been an honour, Sir," F.I.L.S.S. murmurs as I hear the doors close behind me. I incline my head, accepting her words and at the same time, accepting my fate. I stare into her eyes, knowing that I'd soon be with her, knowing that I'd soon be complete again.

Her voice rings out over the loudspeakers, echoing the same words that she had told me time and time again, words which I had heard every time I watched this video. Words which still cut me to my core, even after all this time, every time I heard them. "Don't say goodbye. I hate goodbyes."

_Allison._

* * *

_Many years ago..._

"Good afternoon, Director," the man in front of me murmured softly, turning to face me, his back leaning against the railings of the bridge. "My name is –"

"I know exactly who you are, Counselor," I snapped, my lip curled in distaste. "I see the UNSC don't trust me to run this project without leaving someone behind to hold my hand."

The man held up his hands and shook his head slowly. "I assure you the UNSC had no such intentions. I applied for this position, which they saw fit to grant. I read many of your papers while studying in Corvus Academy, and when I saw that there was need for a…Counselor aboard your ship, I immediately handed in a transfer request."

I stared at him for a moment, before inclining my head in acknowledgement, seeing only the naked truth in his eyes. _Perhaps this is a man I could have use for_, I mused within the privacy of my own mind, although the jury was still out. I wasn't the sort of man who could just trust people. My years working for the UNSC had thought me that trust was too valuable a commodity to hand out freely. It had to be earned.

"Very well then Counselor. I shall look forward to working with you." I looked away from him, out through the glass of the observation deck, into the magnificence of space. "She is a fine vessel, is she not? More than I had expected them to grant me, given the circumstances that we find ourselves in."

"A fine ship sir, certainly. The name, indeed, has a certain aptitude. We live in a time of necessity, after all."

"And necessity is the mother of invention." I finish solemnly, smiling slightly. I turn away from the glass, striding towards the control platform, hands behind my back. Technicians rushed to-and-fro around me, making all the last minute checks and repairs before we left the relative safety of the planet's thermosphere.

"F.I.L.S.S.!" I bark, my tone commanding, my smile widening as the various screens lit up and took on the semblance of activity. "What is our status?"

The dozens of screens quickly flicked through a variety of images, and a woman's voice softly spoke up. "All current systems operational. Life support, online. Engines, online Defence systems, online. Shields, online. Artificial gravity, online. Ship's AI, the Freelancer Integrated Logistics and Security System, online. Waiting for your order, Director."

The Counselor smiled, evidently surprised. "I am impressed, Director." He murmurs, a slight tone of wonder in his voice. "I was not aware that the UNSC had granted this ship an AI."

I chuckled to myself, amused at his words. "Not a "Smart" AI, alas, but a damn good one for all of that. I should know, after all. I designed her. She was one of the first projects I undertook for the UNSC and, up until now at least, one of my most successful."

I smiled again, hands softly caressing the smooth metal surface of the control panel. The panel itself immediately lit up, holographically projecting the personnel records of eight people.

Records that I had not left open.

"F.I.L.S.S., when was the last time these files where opened?" I asked calmly, my eyes locked on the Counselor's suddenly worried eyes.

"Four minutes and thirty five seconds ago, sir," came the swift reply.

I took a step towards the Counselor, who visibly winced as my expression darkened. "I suppose you mean to tell me that viewing my files were a moment of weakness. Perhaps you couldn't wait for me to publish my next paper?" I remarked darkly, venom in each word.

"In my defence, sir. The files were hardly encrypted. And it is my job to psychologically analyse any and all personnel aboard this ship."

"Your job, Counselor, is to obey my orders. I am in command of this project, after all. I would advise you to bear that in mind in the future."

I fell silent, fuming slightly, and glanced back at the reports. Eight soldiers. It was a start, for now. Some of them were the finest soldiers the UNSC had ever trained, and one or two that I myself had personally picked out. They would do the job at hand, of that much I was certain. They would make the universe take note of Project Freelancer.

The Counselor is quiet for a moment, before inevitably opening his mouth once more. "I'm sorry sir, but may I ask one final question?"

I stared at him for a moment, irritated, before turning back to my reports, grudgingly muttering: "If you must."

He looked at me and then glances at the reports in front of me, and I was immediately able to guess what topic he has in mind. After all, anyone would make the connection.

"O-one of the names…" he began, stuttering over his words. "I just wanted to ask…if there is any…"

I cut him off, knowing exactly what question he was struggling to phrase. "I'm sure you're aware that I lost my wife over the course of this war, Counselor."

He nodded slowly, not realising that this was a statement, rather than a question, not exactly sure where I'm going with this line of answering.

"Losing my wife was the most difficult event that I've ever had to deal with. It almost destroyed me. I was a better man back then, Counselor, but if I can assure you on one thing it is that my grief has hardened me. Back then, I wouldn't have been fit for the responsability of running this project. And as this…woman, seems _so _intent on following in my wife's footsteps, well…I just don't want to be keeping myself awake at night, wondering if I could have done more, Counselor. Not this time. Not again."

He nodded again, seeming to understand, although I doubt if he _truly _could. I lost almost everything when Allison died. How could he, with his privileged background, ever understand that sort of pain? How could he, with his smooth words and oily mannerisms ever contemplate true, heart-breaking grief?

I dismissed him, turning back to the control panel, but just when he's almost made it to the door at the far side of the room I call him back, one last thing to impart.

"You may be interested to know, Counselor, that she was, in fact, one of the soldiers on the UNSC's list of recommendations. There is no room for nepotism here in Project Freelancer. In here, all that matters is that you're the best. There is no runners-up prize on the battlefield. There is no second place in war. You can file _that _in your report."

He nodded stiffly and I dismissed him once more, hearing the doors close behind him as he leaves the room. I put him out of my mind, for now, and turn back to the matters at hand. There is much to check up on, after all. I can't afford anything to go wrong. Not now. Not when we're this close.

"F.I.L.S.S., would you be so kind as to give me the current status of pelican Five Niner Two?"

She whirred away quietly to herself for a moment, before happily replying. "Pelican Five Niner Two has just left the facility and is on route to our location. All items have been loaded on board, as ordered. By my calculations it just arrive at our location in approximately five hours."

I nodded, acknowledging her words, and began smiling once more. _All is going to plan._

I was glad that I had sent the Counselor away before asking this, however, as his curiosity would prove most…inconvenient at this time. If I could be certain that he was trustworthy, maybe I could let him in on this little secret. It was quite the achievement, after all.

For the moment, however, this would have to remain a secret, as I shuddered at the thought of the UNSC getting wind of this. For all the funds and assets they had granted, I had little doubt that what was currently in that Pelican would have me behind bars. After all, they weren't prepared for all of ONI's secrets to come out. Not yet, at least.

Regardless of the possible penalties, I couldn't let that armour go to waste. Even if it had been red-stamped for incineration by the UNSC, it was far too a valuable for us to simply destroy. While it was years behind what ONI currently were working with, without the sort of funding and equipment for augmentations that they had it was better than anything else that Project Freelancer had access to. Better than any other project had access to. More than good enough to give the Insurrectionists a reason to pause, and after that, the Covenant…

Not that they were the only things I had…obtained after my time in ONI. Sadly, all I could manage to get onto that pelican was the armour. I couldn't afford to rouse the suspicions of the UNSC this late in the game, and they surely would get more than a little suspicious if dozens of unscheduled freighter pelicans decided to visit the _Mother of Invention_. Especially if the UNSC themselves had not authorised them. They had, after all, perfected the whole unscheduled pelican drop tactic. If politicians could get away with doing something not technically legal, they generally would, providing they always had a safeguard. Plausible deniability and all that jargon.

Despite this, I felt fairly confident that the various drops I had planned to take place over the next few weeks would go by without a hitch. The UNSC preferred to take the "we didn't know" approach to the vast majority of the actions of their various Projects. After all, nothing that ONI had done over the past few years could be considered to be ethical. My misdemeanours were minor, in comparison. After all, we were all servants to the greater good. The ends justify the means, and while the means are not savoury, the end is the survival of the human race. Surely there is no greater goal?

Suddenly, F.I.L.S.S. voice echoed through the room, interrupting my train of thought and bringing me back to the real world. "Director, pelican Four Seven Niner's E.T.A. is in approximately fifteen minutes. Do you want me to establish a connection?"

I nodded, turning to a screen to my left which lit up before me, displaying the triplicate logo of Project Freelancer. "Very well F.I.L.S.S., establish the connection. Could you also alert the Counselor? I will need to speak with him shortly." I pause, searching my memory for information. "Four Seven Niner was to escort…Agent Florida, correct."

"Correct sir, Agent Florida is currently on board. Patching you through now, sir."

I stood alert, hands behind my back as I gaze into the screen, feeling confident and satisfied, eager to meet one of those few selected to take part in this project. Finally, my agents were arriving. Finally, Project Freelancer would begin. Finally, I would be able to have my revenge, and let the ashes of my enemies rain through space for all eternity if they believe that they can stop me.

_Project Freelancer is officially operational._

_God help our enemies._


	2. Chapter 1: Beneath the Mystery

**(A/N) So here we all are, ready for the Chapter One! I know you're all itching to get reading so I'm going to keep this short and sweet. Written by the amazing OhSoDeadly, and from the perspective of one of the most…mysterious of the Freelancers, we are proud to leave you with this insightful chapter. It's beginning to get real guys. You have no idea what we have in store for you! Stay tuned, same RvB-time, same RvB-channel.**

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**Chapter One – Beneath the Mystery**

**Agent Florida**

**Written by OhSoDeadly**

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_"There are those soldiers who were born to fight and kill, and there are those who got forced into it by circumstance. Some want to do it, others feel they have to. Me, I don't know where I stand-somewhere in the middle, I'd guess. But I'll tell you something: for the life of me, I still don't know what Florida's deal is. Sometimes I think he thinks it's all a big game of cowboys and Indians." __- _Agent North Dakota (extracts from personal logs made after going AWOL).

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There wasn't much inside the D77H-TCI "Pelican" troop bay. Just two rows of seats, bathed in dim red light, a pair of emergency medkits on the walls, slots above the seats for holding weapons, D-rings on the floor for securing cargo, and one extremely annoying sign next to the little door that led to the cockpit. _Do not engage the pilot in conversation while in flight/combat deployment. Penalties apply._ Underneath the typed script, someone had added, in thick black marker, **THE KIND WHERE I CUT OFF YOUR BALLS.** Gosh. There was no call for that!

For the entire flight from Vedarris III, Butch had sat there in his seat, growing more and more antsy, staring at the sign as if he could make it disappear by sheer willpower. No dice, though. It stayed in place, and so did he. Waiting for this humdrum ride to end, and to reach their destination. He couldn't wait! Not just so he could give his legs the ol' workout and get the blood pumping, but to explore his soon-to-be home. The Mother of Invention. Just thinking the name sent goosebumps a-runnin' over his skin. What a mysterious name! Most of the ships he'd been on during the war had been pretty boring and uncreative, like the Relentless, or the Land of Fire, or-good heavens!-the All-Devouring Abyss. But this one sounded like all manner of top-secret and spine-tingling things were happening onboard. He wondered what it looked like. He wondered what its schematics were. He wondered if he'd be allowed to have a look around. He wondered-heck, he just plain wondered! But all he could do was sit there, waiting.

Project Freelancer...what a strange name. Freelancing what, exactly? Were they going to be soldiers for hire, going to help wherever they were needed? Who knew? Then again, the creepy-sounding black man who'd approached him about the project had said he would be part of a team, so that probably didn't work out. Freelancer. He tried the word out for size. "Freelancer. Hello, I am Butch Flowers, and I represent Project Freelancer." He chuckled at his impression of a shady and secretive special agent, and then stared guiltily at the cockpit. He hoped he wasn't disturbing the pilot with his rambling.

The pilot hadn't said anything to him, apart from the usual fare of "Taking off" and "Hang on" and so forth. He'd tried to be friendly upon meeting her (a woman pilot, he'd learned, was never in a good mood), even dropping his carefully packed duffle bag to shake her hand, but she'd just eyed him, chewing her gum inside her helmet, and motioned for him to get onboard. Honestly! What rudeness from what sounded like a young lady. Good manners didn't cost a nickel or a dime. If that had been one of his daughters, he'd have had no truck with that-

Darn it. He'd gone and done it again, thinking about the past. He stared down at the floor, jaw clenching, willing the bad memories to go back into that dark little corner of his mind he'd reserved for anything from his old life. After a minute or two, he was successful, and his gaze levelled out again, his cheerful smile once again in place. Not that there was anyone around to see it. He sighed, the plaintive noise filling the small space. Boooooooored!

His gaze wandered, and he noticed that a porthole window on the starboard side hadn't been closed properly. Outside, he saw the glimmers of stars. Fascinated, he unbuckled his seat, went to the little window, and stared out at the space around them.

Space. No matter how many times he saw it, he never got tired of it. So many stars, so many planets! Sure, of course there were nasty no-good aliens in it too, but that didn't mean the galaxy was a nasty no-good place. You always had to see the positives, or you were in for a bad time, every time!

He stood there for a while, just watching the cosmos slip by, until a squawk came over the speakers, and the pilot's voice filled the passenger bay. _"Hey, new guy. Incoming transmission from the Director. Patching you in." _A burp of static and she was gone.

In a little corner of blackness, a white square flared to life, then changed to blue. A TV screen he'd missed! His peepers just weren't what they used to be. On the screen, a man came into view. He looked a little older than Butch himself, had greying hair, spectacles, and faded green eyes. He wore what looked like a typical Navy officer uniform, only that it was grey. His hands were clasped behind his back, and when he spoke, it was in a Texas drawl. Butch tried not to laugh at the strange inflections, and tried to stand at attention. While sitting down. Haha! Good one.

_"Flowers, correct?"_ Butch frowned internally. It had been phrased like a question, but it sure as shooting didn't sound like one. But he knew his duty, so he saluted and said, "Yes sir! Reporting for duty, sir! Happy to be here, sir!"

_"I can see that. At ease."_ He was silent a moment, as he consulted something off-screen, then he refocused on Butch, eyes narrowed like an emerald laser beam. _"Very well. Listen closely now, Flowers. This Project is designed to choose, from a wide pool of candidates selected from the military, the best and brightest. These chosen ones will form a specialised team of elite men and women, to be unleashed against the Covenant when the time is right. To aid in this endeavour, the UNSC has granted us special authority and equipment. However, we stand as an independent entity, subordinate to the UNSC, but virtually autonomous."_ He seemed to curl his lip at this last part a bit. _"Previous identities will be discarded in the interest of team cohesion and camaraderie. Code-names will be utilised instead." _

Butch struggled to contain his gasp of excitement. Code-names! Just like when he used to play "Superspy" with his buddies when he was just a tyke! This was so cool! "What will my code-name be, sir?" A thought struck him, and he spoke in a rush, "Do we get to choose our own?!"

_"No."_ He deflated a bit. _"We will be assigning code-names according to the geography of the United States of America, back on Earth. Yours will be...Florida. Do not reveal to anyone your actual name, or previous rank, or previous service history. Others will be instructed to do likewise. You are here to start anew, understood?"_

Butch-no no, he corrected himself, _Agent Florida_-nodded fervently. "Abso-tively, sir! I don't think there's a better place to do it than here, sir! I'll be giving one hundred and ten percent, you can bet your bottom dollar on that!"

The Director seemed slightly distracted. _"Indeed. The project is very...demanding. Be ready for anything."_ He glanced downward. _"Your transport will arrive shortly. Please follow the other candidates when you arrive, and we will begin integration immediately. That is all. Over and out."_ The screen winked off.

No longer bored out of his brain, Agent Florida sat back in his seat, hands knotting together and rocking back and forth with glee. His new life was going to be a blast, he could tell!


	3. Chapter 2: First Impressions

**(A/N) Here comes the second chapter, written by the extraordinary anna1795. I personally loved this chapter, and I hope you all will too. It's our very first look at some of the never-before-seen Freelancers, and our first chance to see how these guys will all coexist together. Will they get along? Will they tear each other's throats out? Read on to find out! **

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**Chapter Two – First Impressions**

**Agent Virginia**

**Written by anna1795**

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_"Sometimes one creates a dynamic impression by saying something, and sometimes one creates as significant an impression by remaining silent." _– Dalai Lama

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"Mother of Invention, this is Pelican 343-R, requesting docking clearance."

The dark-haired woman in the back of the Pelican didn't move, hearing the male pilot of the aircraft speaking to the console of the ship. The ship jumped once or twice as it hit a pocket of turbulence. She grabbed onto the safety harness and her knapsack simultaneously, while the metal of the seat and harness jarred her uncomfortably. The other two passengers on the ship did the same, though they were slightly more vocal about their discomfort.

343-R, still waiting for clearance from their destination, turned his head back towards his passengers. "You guys excited to start with the project?"

One of the guys, a tall man with lightly tanned skin and brown hair, smiled back to the impassive silver visor of the woman's helmet. "You bet!" he called up over the roar of the ship's engines. "It'll be good to do something useful!"

"Like we weren't doing stuff before?" His neighbour, a huge man with dark brown hair and an intimidating glare, directed his words at the more enthusiastic of the two. The other man leaned back, as if trying to keep away from the intimidator. The more intimidating of the two gave a short bark of laughter and hit the shorter one on the arm with the back of his hand 'lightly.' "Kidding," he said, and the first one gave a weak little laugh, rubbing the blossoming bruise.

"You're awfully quiet!" the pilot called back to her, and she turned towards the voice. "What about you? Are you excited to be working with us?" She thought about it for a second and shrugged.

"I guess," she replied shortly. "I haven't really thought about it."

Now that she did think about it, she still couldn't make up her mind. Her whole decision about how enjoyable the project would be would have to be based on the people. Each person was a puzzle waiting to be solved, and she enjoyed figuring out puzzles. It helped in her strategy. She surveyed the other people around her, watching their movements and faces.

_"Roger that, 343-R. Standby for clearance."_ A male voice finally crackled over the radio, and she took a look around to try and figure out about the others around her.

The brunette was quick to read. He was enthusiastic, outgoing, and seemed to be friendly with anyone that he encountered. He was also quick-witted and cunning. She could easily guess that he was a jokester, full of surprises in every form. His posture was relaxed and bouncy, so he would be light on his feet. It might also mean that he was someone who tried to keep the situation as non-serious as possible so that he wouldn't have to suffer a hard loss. She gave a slight hum at the prospect. He turned to her and gave a wide, toothy grin. She responded with the largest smile possible to her, but it achieved little more than a curl of her lips upward.

_"343-R, you have been cleared for landing. Welcome aboard,"_ the flight controller's voice crackled over the radio. The ship began to drop slightly as they moved towards the ship that none of them could see, but that they all knew was there.

The tall one was a lot harder to read and understand. His face seemed impassive, like you wouldn't be able to tell where he was from. The scars on his muscular arms that were visible from the sleeves of his black t-shirt indicated that he had a military history, at the very least. He held himself tall yet reserved, like he was trying to hide a secret. His dark eyes betrayed nothing, but there was something that she felt, and she felt empathetic. Whatever this man was trying to hide, most of the façade he put forth was covering up years of pain and suffering.

"And…touchdown!" 343-R crowed excitedly as the ship jostled against a hard surface. He turned to the three passengers. "Alright, everyone off my ship! Go on!" he barked, but good naturedly. The gangway popped open, and the safety harnesses released. Spurred on by 343-R's words, the three of them grabbed their bags and raced off the ship, weaving through people to get to a secluded corner so that they could gather their bearings.

"We haven't been properly introduced, have we?" the shorter of the two brunettes asked his two companions, and he held out his hand, then withdrew it hesitantly. "Oh, we're supposed to use our new 'names' now, aren't we?" he chuckled, looking down at the official-looking document in his hand. "I guess I'm 'Agent New York.' God, that's too long," he groaned. "Call me York."

She looked down at the document in her own hand just as the taller of the two men introduced himself as Agent Pennsylvania. The precise, uniform typing listed her name in bright red letters under her real name. "Virginia," she said finally, folding the paper and stowing it away in her pants pocket.

"Those guys look like who we should go with," Pennsylvania pointed towards a group of people in civilian clothes, mulling at the edge of the hangar with their bags and possessions. The three new agents walked over to join them, and a woman with curly brown hair turned around as they approached. She smiled at them slightly, and the others stopped speaking. They opened up their social circle and allowed Virginia, York, and Penn in to join them.

"Hi there," the brown-haired woman greeted them, holding out a hand to Virginia. She took it and exchanged a firm handshake with the other agent. "I'm Massachusetts. You can call me Massa, though."

"Nice to meet you," York gave a dramatic, eloquent bow, and some of the other agents chuckled. "I'm York, that big guy's Pennsylvania, and you're shaking hands with Virginia."

One of the other men, with a thick yet manicured mustache, came forward and held out his hand to York. "Wyoming, at your service," he drawled in a thick British accent. The two men grasped each other's hands firmly, yet gave each other nice-enough smiles. Wyoming took a look at Pennsylvania and backed away to take Virginia's limp hand. "I'm truly honored to be in the presence of a lady," he murmured, bending down to kiss her hand.

Reflex dominated willpower at that moment. Virginia grabbed the hand that was holding hers and pressed her thumb hard into the fleshy part of the hand. Wyoming gave a gasp and almost fell to the ground. Realizing what she was doing, Virginia rapidly let go and backed up, horror running cold through her mind and blood. She couldn't let that sort of thing happen again. If anyone saw, she was bound to be kicked back home for sure.

"Serves you right for trying to pull that stunt," the other new woman, whose blazing red hair shone like a wildfire, stepped forward to greet the new arrivals. "It's about time you showed up," she directed her next comment at them. "We didn't know if you had chickened out at the last minute. I'm Carolina, by the way."

"Which one?" Pennsylvania asked, but a shrug was Carolina's only answer. Virginia recomposed herself with a deep breath and re-joined the group, pulling Wyoming to his feet. She stared at Carolina for a very long moment as Wyoming backed away from her, and her vibrant blue eyes met the redhead's neon green orbs. They faced each other for a moment, sizing the other up.

"Anyways," York interrupted, breaking the staring contest between the two women, "who are your other friends?"

"Right," Massa recovered and pointed to a tale, pale man with short black hair. "This is Alaska. Don't ask where he came from, he won't budge. I have a feeling that you two might get along well together, Virginia." Virginia's attention was drawn to Alaska, who stared back at her with deep blue eyes. A precautionary shiver went up Virginia's neck, but she maintained eye contact for a second and traced the scars that ran across his face.

"I don't think that it will work out so well," Alaska said coolly after a moment, turning to Massa. Virginia nodded in agreement and turned to the final man. He was older than most of them, with faint age lines and dark hair beginning to grey around the edges. He wore a bright smile on his face, though, and she felt that he had the same natural happiness and enthusiasm as York. She seemed instantly drawn to this older person and his unique personality, though it was certainly more…outgoing than her own.

"Call me Florida," he greeted the newcomers, extending a hand that was shaken by the two men. Florida took Virginia's hand gently and stared at her for a long moment, trying to read her as much as she was reading him. "You look about the same age as… well, never mind," he passed the thought with a flippant laugh, and Virginia found herself almost caught up in the infectious happiness.

"Good afternoon, everyone," a deep, calm voice echoed from a doorway, and they turned to face the dark man approaching them. He wore the dark uniform of a frigate administrator, and carried a datapad in one arm. His eyes and smile seemed oddly disconcerting, though, glassy and fake in their kindliness. "I hope everyone has had a pleasant journey and an opportunity to meet each other?"

"Yes, sir," they all answered immediately, standing up straight.

"Welcome to Project Freelancer. You may call me Counselor," the man greeted in a voice like an elementary teacher on their first day of class. "I will be assisting both you and the Director of the Project in ensuring that your needs are met and the system operates smoothly and effectively for all of us. If you will follow me, I will take you on a brief tour of the facilities before we meet the Director for your full briefing and introduction. Are there any questions?"

Pennsylvania motioned. "Is there any specific place where you want us to drop off our bags?"

"We will visit your quarters first so that you may deposit your personal effects," the Counselor replied, turning back the way that he had come. "If you will please follow me." Virginia hoisted her knapsack over her shoulder while the others shouldered backpacks or messenger bags, and they all followed the Counselor in a pack. He led them through a maze of blank hallways further along the ship. Some of them had windows along the side, and some were merely steel and titanium panels, cold and unfeeling. The Counselor talked about the various schematics of the ship, how many personnel were involved onboard the ship, their facilities, and etcetera. Virginia was only paying half a mind to where they were going until they entered a hallway with several doors.

"These will be your personal quarters for the duration of your stay," the Counselor beckoned to the doors. "Your names are temporarily posted on the door of your assigned rooms. Agents New York and Carolina, you have been assigned your own. The rest of you have been divided and paired for the duration of your stay." Virginia looked around the group of them that had arrived and, seeing that all but two were guys, could safely assume that Massachusetts would be her roommate. They all got to their doors, which opened automatically, and tossed their belongings inside without staying to look at where they were sleeping. "Agent Virginia, I apologize that we were not able to set up a bedframe for you at this time," the Counselor apologized to Virginia as she passed him. "We are working on correcting the situation."

"It's fine," she mumbled. "I prefer just a mattress."

The Counselor did not respond, only gathering them up again like a herder with his sheep, and he led them further on into the ship. There were no more windows now as they traversed deeper and deeper, passing by the training room, the gym, the mess hall, and a swimming pool. As the Counselor explained some of the restrictions with the Olympic-sized marvel, Virginia stared at the equipment surrounding the pool, including the high-dive.

The Freelancers were finally shown into a dark room with desks, with two chairs apiece that faced towards a large projector board. The Counselor instructed them to take a seat and be patient, and they all sat at the desks. York and Carolina sat together without even realizing it, and Wyoming moved into the empty seat besides Florida. Alaska sat in the back of the room by himself, while Massachusetts sidled cautiously into the seat beside Pennsylvania towards the front of the room. This left Virginia with a row all to herself, and she sat in the second row from the front, farthest towards the wall so that she had a good viewing point of the entire room.

There came a click of heels on the thin-carpeted floor, and the lights flickered on dimly. They all stood up as a man in a dark grey uniform and glasses came down the wide steps to the front of the room. The light glared off of his glasses, and the silver in his otherwise dark hair gleamed eerily. The hair on the back of Virginia's neck stood up even more so than when she had met Alaska. This man was someone that kept her aware. No matter what, she made a promise to herself never to trust this man. It could prove dangerous.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen," the man spoke in a thick Southern accent from his position at the front of the room, hands behind his back. He looked almost like a professor lecturing a room full of students. "You may call me 'Director' or 'sir.'" Nobody spoke, so he decided to continue. "You may be seated."

"As most of you know from the personal interviews that were conducted with each and every one of you, you are volunteers for a co-operative private and public project of the UNSC for new methods of training soldiers to be more efficient in combat. More than that, though, you are all the beginning of a new generation of super soldiers, humanity's first defense against threats such as the Covenant and the Insurrectionists."

Virginia noticed Carolina lean forward in her seat eagerly, eating up every single word the Director spoke. She held no such enthusiasm, only caution. She turned to face the Director again as he spoke.

"Most of you are the finest soldiers that the UNSC has ever seen. Some of you have been personally selected for your skills, and they will be beneficial to the future of this Project, as well as the human race. There will be numerous tasks that you will undergo to prove your worth to Project: Freelancer. There is the possibility that you may live long enough to retire. There is also the very real possibility that you will die in service to humanity." The Director paused, letting the severity of his words sink in to the new recruits. Virginia accepted them as a reality. It was true: her service to the UNSC came with the ever-real possibility that she would return home in a casket or smaller decorated box rather than in uniform and into the waiting arms of her family.

"This risk is no excuse for poor performance in the Project, and I hope never to remind you of that," the Director continued sternly. "You will all try your best with everything that you do here, or it will reflect poorly on you all. The first chance to prove yourselves is tomorrow. Schedules have been uploaded into the computers in your quarters. You are all dismissed."

"Yes sir!" Seven voices rang out through the classroom, and they stood and filed out the door towards the scent of dinner wafting down the halls. The mess hall was open, and a small line of ship staff extended from a buffet counter that had delicious fumes spreading throughout the air.

The chatter that had been going on between the personnel in line or already seated immediately ceased as the Freelancers entered, and all eyes turned towards them. Virginia felt very exposed with all those eyes on her, and she wasn't the only one being made uncomfortable by the pervasive silence. Penn twitched behind her, and Alaska had become suddenly tense. The air around the Freelancers had grown suddenly colder.

"Hey, what's up?" York asked cheerfully, though his last few words kinds of trailed off at the end. He gave a sort of half-wave, and everyone else resumed their chatter and eating, unconcerned with the new Freelancers.

"Thanks for the diversion," Massa thanked the brunette, who gave a bashful smile and scratched his head, muttering about it not being a problem. They all lined up at the counter, and Virginia eyed the food. Grabbing a tray, she began piling heaps of rice, chicken, mixed vegetables, pasta, beef, and fruit onto her plate. Everyone eyed her pile of food, then looked at Virginia, then back at the food.

"Are you starving?!" Massa asked incredulously as Virginia topped off her heap of food with a few dinner rolls and grabbed a glass of water.

"Where I came from, you learn to take as much food as you can, because you never know when you'll eat next," Virginia answered, grabbing the tray and following Florida and Penn towards an empty table. She gave a lurch as something blocked her foot, and she staggered forward, and the tray went flying.

Shedding her calm demeanor with a yelp, Virginia leapt forward and grabbed the tray, maneuvering it so that she could grab the plate and the food she had loaded onto it. Not a single grain of rice spilled onto the floor as she caught all of the flying food on the tray. She maneuvered the food onto her right forearm, twisted around, and grabbed the glass of water and the liquid that had threatened to spill out of it. There came a few gasps at the acrobatic display, and several people applauded her skill. Blushing, Virginia hustled over to the Freelancers' table and sat down on the end of the bench, making sure not to brush against Alaska.

"Where'd you learn that?" York whistled as Virginia grabbed her utensils and started shoveling food into her mouth.

"Around," she muttered around a mouthful of pasta and meat, and he gave a shrug and returned to his own food.

"Don't be a show-off," someone muttered, and Virginia looked up.

"Excuse me?" Virginia directed her innocent question at Carolina, who set down her glass of juice.

"You heard me," Carolina snapped. "We're not here to show the rest of the crew that we're the best. We're here to train and prove ourselves to the Project. Fancy acrobatics are not going to win you any credit here."

"Begging your pardon, miss," Virginia couldn't help the sarcastic tone from creeping into her tone. "I'll be sure to check my arrogance at the door the next time I wander into your presence." Her neck hairs prickled at Carolina's assumption. She was NOT a show-off; she wanted to draw as little attention to herself as possible.

"Easy, there," Florida consoled the two bristling women as they gave each other hard looks. "I'm sure that Virginia wasn't being a show-off. I think that she did a good job there getting all of her food back on her plate again." There came a few anonymous rumbles of agreement from around the table.

"Thanks, Florida. Carolina's right, though," Virginia muttered. "I'm just a little paranoid about my food and people trying to take it away. I'm not trying to show off; it's just what I've been taught to do."

"Fine," Carolina growled, resuming her eating. The other Freelancers followed suit, inhaling the food that had been denied to them since their pick-up from their various locations. A couple of guys from engineering stood up and walked past their table, and one of them brushed purposefully into Alaska's broad back. With a growl, he leapt up and towered over the man that had knocked into him.

"You got a problem, punk?" the large, pale man growled threateningly at the helmeted man, who seemed to shrink about a foot in his overlarge boots. He gave a shake of his head, and Alaska snarled. "Then beat it." The guy from engineering gave a squeak and dashed out of the hall. Giving a small smirk, Alaska sat back down. Virginia scooted a little further away from him.

As soon as they were all done eating and just about to start chatting with each other about the next day's events, the doors to the mess hall opened up to admit both the Counselor and the Director. Every soldier, Freelancer, and various personnel stood up at the presence of their superiors. With a wave of the hand, everyone but the Freelancers was seated again and resumed their meal.

"All Freelancers are to follow us for armor fitting and augmentation," the Director said smoothly, but in a tone that demanded his order be followed immediately. With a scraping of chairs and wiping of faces, they all stood up and grouped around the Director, waiting for instruction. "Well? You are acting like sheep, and I, I'm sorry to inform you, am not your shepherd," he commented snidely, his upper lip curled dismissively.

"If you will please follow me," the Counselor interjected, and he started walking towards the door with the others trailing in a line behind him. Virginia followed more towards the back, just in front of Penn and Alaska. She took a deep breath, trying to swallow the doubt rising in her throat. A firm hand started pushing her forward, attempting to move her faster. She stumbled slightly from the force in Pennsylvania's hand, steeled herself, and marched onward towards her new life.


	4. Chapter 3: In Armour Clad

**(A/N) It's a Saturday, and you all know what that means! It's update time! This chapter was written by the incredible Ausphin, and introduces us all to the genius behind the 'stache, Mr Wyoming himself. Enjoy, and review if you feel like it. It gives us a warm feeling inside and makes our collective egos even bigger. **

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**Chapter Three – In Armour Clad**

**Agent Wyoming**

**Written by Ausphin**

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"_Conceit is the finest armour a man can wear." _- Jerome K. Jerome

* * *

"Here we are," the so-called "Counselor" intoned, turning to face the Freelancers as the group followed the duo into the room. Immediately, Wyoming's attention slipped to the sets of armour, gleaming metal suits looking like nothing he had ever seen before. Certainly nothing like what the regular UNSC had access to. He noted that the majority of the group was also staring at them in varying degrees of awe.

After a moment, the Counselor cleared his throat, pulling the attention back to him. "As I'm sure you can see, we have the top-of-the-line in technology for Project Freelancer," he preened, clearly finding some level pride in the finance provided to his work. "Beside each suit is a datapad with the state name of the agent it's assigned to and instructions on its functions. Please find your armour now."

With that said, the Counselor stepped aside. After a short tentative pause to be sure they were really allowing it, the group went to the suits with Alaska and York eagerly hurrying at the head, Virginia and Pennsylvania tailing. York began calling out the names as he passed each, directing them to their armour until he reached his own, the one on the far right which was apparently a standard Mark VI tan suit. Alaska stood before a set of adapted red ODST armour marked with black trim. Carolina headed for a set of sky-blueish-greeny-turquoise armour, Virginia went to a bright green-and-orange Mark VI. Massachusetts and Pennsylvania admired a pale green Mark VI suit and a dark blue respectively. As Florida oohed and chuckled at his own 'Marvellous!' ODST suit, Wyoming eyed his off-white armour.

Not exactly the most amazing of the set, but it'll do, he decided after an examination. Picking up the datapad, he gave it a tap and the name gave way to a video, diagramming the suit and its various parts and functions. A wide majority of it seemed for show, as it was a bit doubtful that many of the agents cared about the finer features like the airproof seal, enhanced 'heads-up display', or even the helmet floodlights. It displayed various videos for a few more minutes, showing the suit in action, how it increased speed, strength, and much more.

The video ended with a picture of a team of soldiers suited up and charging into battle, fading to black. Wyoming looked up, seeing most of the others with their eyes still on the pads save for Carolina, Virginia, and York. He rolled his eyes as he noticed Florida opting to watch it again.

When he was sure that everyone had finished watching it at least once, the Counselor spoke up again. "Now that you have learned the basics of your armour, we may move on. You may further familiarize yourself with the equipment later on when the suit has been delivered to your rooms. I would like to remind you that these suits are not toys, and should be treated with respect. We believe that they are safe for use, but there have been examples of suits, similar to these, causing severe injuries to their wearers when not properly maintained and misused."

From further down the line, York muttered, "Maybe that's why there's only eight of us."

The Counselor transfixed him with a steely gaze. "Did you say something, Agent New York?" which was met with a mild flush and a "Nothing, sir!"

"Just as I thought," he replied smugly. "Now, the next area we are headed to is the weapons' armoury. Naturally, as a military branch, weapons are going to be a common part of the missions and you must be familiar with the tools you use."

As he said this, he stood by a doorway leading into the adjacent room, awaiting the agents. Carolina typically led the way, motioning for us to follow her. As they entered, Wyoming realised that this was a smaller room with four long tables in the middle. Each had a wide assortment of guns from pistols to submachine guns, battle rifles to sniper rifles, rocket launchers and a few missile pods lying against the sides of the room. All in all, it was a veritable candy shop of guns all gleaming, polished and ready for action.

"As I'm aware that most of you have a history in the military, I doubt I need to explain every individual weapon here. Instead, all of you take a few moments to familiarize yourself with them, deciding which you'd prefer for missions." The Counselor murmured, gesturing towards the weapons.

This time, the hesitation was much shorter as most of the group bustled over, eager to sort through the weapons. Many of them gave the magnums and knives appraising glances, trying to decide which weapon would be their favourite or which might save their lives in a tough situation. York gripped a shotgun approvingly while Carolina swirled a pistol around one finger. Alaska grinned at the wickedly-gleaming knives, giving one an expert flip before catching it and setting it back down with a nod, moving over to look at the selection of DMRs.

Wyoming walked around the table a while, taking in the various weapons, before grabbing the traditional sniper rifle he'd gotten used to. Lining up with the sight, he happily realized these came upgraded with heat and night vision and gave a small chuckle of appreciation. Florida gripped a tomahawk, murmuring how "Nifty!" it was, before setting it down on the table, his eyes caught by some adapted assault rifles. Some of the others stuck with the rudimentary pistol, or an assault or battle rifle.

After several minutes of this, the Counselor stepped forward. "I trust all of you have made choices about your weapon preference? Regardless, we're running out of time so you all must relinquish them back to where they were."

Anticipating the few groans of protest, he continued. "I must insist. The weapons are not to leave this room. And now, if you'll follow me, I'll show you to your rooms. You can spend the rest of the afternoon relaxing and getting acquainted with your roommate if you have one, or your armour. From this moment on, your induction has passed. Tomorrow, we begin for real. Welcome to Project Freelancer."

With that, he led the pack out.


	5. Chapter 4: Hit and Miss

**(A/N) Once again, it's update time! Really glad to see all the positive feedback we've been getting from everyone out there. Hitting 500 views in two and a half weeks is pretty damn rewarding. We'd like to thank everyone who's stopped by to read this and in particular everyone who took that extra bit of time to type up a review. This chapter is written by the spectacular Maple Alycia Hood, from the POV of everyone's favourite lockpicker, Agent York himself. Hope you enjoy this. Next update is on Saturday, as usual. Expect something…different.**

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**Chapter Four – Hit and Miss**

**Agent New York**

**Written by Maple Alycia Hood**

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"_I like keeping my life open, and seeing what happens. It's more fun that way."_ – Camilla Belle.

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_"What's up guys, this is your hosts Jack and Geoff for tonight's Grifball Tournament Final stationed in sunny Austin, Texas, where we're getting ready for the biggest playoff since this game began. It's Team Majestic against Team Castle. I am so excited for this game, Geoff!"_

_"I know, man! This is gonna be amazing. There has been so much heat up to this point, it's hotter than the weather outside! Both teams have huge numbers of winning streaks under their belts, so it's all down to this very match."_

Just because New York - by this point, since that was his new codename – was on board some kind of spaceship in the middle of nowhere, it didn't mean that he couldn't take the time to crash in the newly crowned recreation room and set up the nearby TV onto his favourite channel just in time for what was probably going to be the biggest Grifball match of the century. Majestic and Castle were his two favourite teams! Well, if he had to be brutally honest, he liked Majestic a little more. Right now, though, he was far more interested to see who would win, and what kind of carnage would be created during the game.

He sat at the very edge of the couch, arms resting across his lap, watching the picture in front of him with an intent expression as the two teams – Castle was red, Majestic was blue – gathered on the field, and the Grifball appeared in the center of the room. The commentators seemed excited, but nowhere near as excited as the brown haired man was. He'd even put his Grifball t-shirt on, along with a pair of black loose trousers and white sneakers. He was prepared for this. He was prepared for whatever the game threw at him.

_"And here we have it! The start of the final game of this year's Grifball season!"_

Someone was at the door, but…_York_, paid little attention. He was too engrossed in the starting game. Majestic's defence were already taking out that of Castle, but Castle's ball catcher had charged forward, grabbing the bomb and thus turning his armour the familiar orange that belonged to the namesake of the game. Damn, if only he knew where the guy was. He'd love to meet him sometime. Still, at this rate that was highly unlikely. York was in the middle of a secretive project, where it was highly unlikely that he'd get to go home again anytime soon. If the dude was even on Earth.

Things were getting hot in this game already. Defence members were slamming into each other, then were temporarily locked down, red or blue armoured players either falling straight to the ground or flying right away from the main source of action. The Grifball was constantly moving between players, so it was getting pretty hard to keep up with the game, but York just about managed. And if he couldn't, the commentators were giving the lowdown on which member had the ball, which member had made an awesome attack, and which member – or members – were so out for the count that they were on the other side of the court. This was probably the last bit of televised chaos that he'd get to watch in a good while.

_"Oooh!"_ He couldn't help himself as one of the hammers of Majestic's defence slammed into the back of the Castle ball catcher and sent him straight down to the ground. The blue ball catcher rolled up the bomb and sprinted off towards the other goal, with red defence players hot on his heels. Swords came out this time, lashing out at anybody that even came close, as both teams tried desperately to hang onto the Grifball and score some points.

If only he had someone on this ship that had the same amount of passion for the game as he did. At this rate, York would be the only Freelancer who even liked the sport. He was pretty sure half of his teammates didn't actually know what it was, but he wouldn't bother them too much about it. If it came down to him being the only fan, that would be fine. Still, a couple of guys coming in to make a little noise when the goals came through would make this project entertaining, because so far all anyone ever talked about was fighting.

The Director most likely meant well, but he couldn't shake the feeling that the man was a little too strict. Sure, this was a secretive project, and they all had codenames and had practically had to leave their old lives behind. That didn't mean they couldn't at least try to be friends, right? They had to like each other to be able to work with each other, after all. He'd hate to be in a team full of people that were against each other. It wouldn't go down well at all. They could get themselves killed!

Freelancer. Project Freelancer. Freelancers were mercenaries. They weren't supposed to work in teams.

"So how exactly does this work?"

York nearly jumped out of his seat at the sound of the voice. He glanced to the door to see the familiar redhead leaning against the frame, arms folded, a bemused smile on her face. Oddly enough, that was the very question he'd been asking himself in his head, but she was most likely talking about the game. He did his best charming grin in response, but she didn't seem too interested. Hard to get, huh? Well, he could at least try his luck. Her state name was Carolina, if he remembered correctly. He had to admit, he sure liked Carolina.

"Basically, there's the Grifball in the center, both teams try to get it to the opposite goal, first team to do that ten times is the winner." He explained as he looked back to make sure he hadn't missed anything. This final was important, after all. "Things are made interesting with the hammers and the swords, but obviously they're not lethal."

Majestic's ball catcher pushed the Castle goalkeeper out of the way, jumping up and slamming the bomb into the goal, but he was quick to move away from the Grifball as it exploded and sent everyone flying backwards, only to land in catlike poses. They'd had plenty of practice when it came to exploding bombs, it seemed.

"Oh, and the bomb explodes when it reaches the goal." York added as an afterthought.

"You don't say." Carolina replied in an offhanded voice. The brown haired man looked to her again, deciding to play a little more dangerously. He knew this woman was quite capable of kicking his ass whenever and wherever she felt like it, but she was a beautiful lady. It couldn't hurt to try, right? A small comment wouldn't warrant an ass kicking, surely?

"Hey, uh... why don't you stick around for a bit? Maybe watch some of the game with me?" He offered, leaning back and resting one leg over the other, extending one of his arms to lie over the top of the sofa. The other Freelancer's smirk widened slightly and she looked away.

"Actually, I have better things to do." She answered, turning her back and beginning to walk out of the room, but it seemed like she wasn't done talking yet. "Like getting some work done around here, unlike some people."

Ouch. That was one fiery woman. Spirited woman always had something about them that he loved perhaps a little too much. Okay, so that hadn't gone down too well. York wouldn't let that dishearten him, though. Nothing would dampen his content mood right now. There were plenty of other times to see if Carolina held any sort of feelings for, well, anyone. But yes, he did find himself liking the bright red haired woman, even if she had rejected him at the moment. He liked her even more than-

_"Oh, and that's an amazing score by Castle!"_

"WHAT?!"

Well, okay, maybe he liked Carolina and Grifball in equal amounts.


	6. Chapter 5: Status Report

**(A/N) Hey guys, it's that time of the week again! Another update, courtesy of The Freelancer Collaboration. This time, we're seeing through the eyes of a medic on-board the **_**Mother Of Invention**_** and a little something from the Director as well. For those of you getting impatient, wondering what's happened to the action, just bear with us. It'll be coming very, very soon. Brought to you by the sensational Casaric, and the moderately decent NicKenny, who's going to shut up now and leave you to enjoy the chapter. Next update, as always, will be Wednesday.**

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**Chapter Five – Status Report**

**Killian Jay – Private First Class, Medic**

**Written by Casaric**

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_"I was always shocked when I went to the doctor's office and they did my X-ray and they didn't find that I had eight more ribs that I should have or that my blood was the colour green."_ – Nicolas Cage

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When you see a short man wearing multi-coloured armour staring at a door at muttering to himself, you would probably describe that occurrence as 'odd'. This, in fact, happens much more often than one would think. Once a week in-fact. Every Tuesday, on 3:45 on the dot, Killian Jay, Private First Class, Medic, is tasked with delivering the Director of Project Freelancer the weekly report on the freelancers' well-being. More often than not, he spent the last five minutes practicing his lines before heading in.

"Well, that was the report, sir...thank you, I know I'm the best, sir...No, no, I really don't need a promotion sir...Well, if you insist, sir..." The medic mumbled happily, staring off at nothing, lost in a self-induced trance.

*_Ssssthump_*

Out of the Director's office walked another medic, who was responsible for delivering the daily causality report, and heaved a sigh of relief as the door closed behind him, walking past Killian as if he wasn't even there. When he was about half-way down the hall, the newcomer turned around and shouted at the top of his lungs:

**"Killian, what have you done?! You just killed a patient! How could you?!"** And then turned around and continued to walk as if nothing had happened.

The effect was immediate. Killian locked up, stopped breathing...and nearly threw-up in his helmet, ripping it from his body before he drowned in his own bile, deciding that the floor was a much better option.

_'That's what janitors get paid for anyway, right?'_ He thought, steadying himself against a wall.

After allowing himself a moment to regain his composure and to re-attach his helmet, he took a deep breath, and walked into the Director's office.

When Killian entered the room, he wasn't surprised to find the Counselor there by the Director's side.

"We cannot wait any longer Counselor. They're soldiers, grown men and women. Not children in an elementary school."

"...But, sir...this evaluation...you don't think it could-"

"Ah, it appears that we have company," the Director interrupted, noticing Killian enter the room. "Well, what it is it?"

The medic snapped to attention. "I'm here to deliver the weekly medical report on the freelancers you selected, sir."

"...At ease."

Killian adjusted his stance accordingly.

"You may report, soldier." The Director continued.

Killian nodded, pulling out a data-pad from the storage unit strapped to his thigh, and began reading. "We have held the medical examinations, as per your request. The results of which are as follows. The general health of your agents is fine. Older injuries outnumber newer ones, and for the most part should not affect the performance of your agents. I would also like to take the time to mention that some of your more...unbalanced agents have been having reoccurring flashbacks and lucid nightmares as of late. While this has nothing to do with their physical health, I felt it was my responsibility to make it known to you. On another note, we have finally received the equipment we request a few months back, now we don't need to worry about fixing those old Bio-Foam injectors. Well, one less thing to repair, right? Sincerely, Head of Medical Operations, James L." Killian finished, glancing up from the data-pad. The Director seemed to be thinking about something, but he couldn't tell what.

"Do you have the full report?" The Counselor asked, apparently suddenly interested in the goings-on of the medical world.

"Yeah here, let me pull it up..." Killian replied, sliding his fingers across the data pad, then bringing them around in a circle, before handing it to the Counselor.

"Thank you, that will be all private, you are dismissed."

As Killian turned to leave, he could swear he could feel the Director's eyes burning holes into the back of his helmet.

* * *

**The Director**

**Written by NicKenny**

* * *

"_History does not long entrust the care of freedom to the weak or the timid." – Dwight D. Eisenhower _

* * *

I turned back to the Counselor as the medic left the room, my patience completely used up by this point, but that does not prevent him from continuing his tragically flawed argument.

"Sir, I just do not believe that the men are ready for what you have planned. They just haven't had the time necessary to bond as a unit. The way you're planning to push them, the methods of training…It's going to split them apart!"

I wearily raised a hand, preventing him from coming out with another stream of this drivel. "Counselor, do you not think that I've factored in all the doubts that you have mentioned? You studied my papers, yet believe that you can _lecture _me on my methods? The training is _designed _to pull them apart! What is important is ensuring that they all pull back together."

The Counselor stared at me, evidently still not entirely convinced by my reasoning. I sighed, running my hands through my hair. "Very well then," I muttered, displeased by his reactions. "Tomorrow I will organise a training exercise, to show you the abilities of our agents. If any of them fail, _then_ we can talk about slowing down the project."

He paused, considering my proposal. "We do have a training exercise planned for tomorrow. Are you suggesting we make it more…engaging?"

I waved a hand dismissively, sighing slightly. "If it will ease your fears. Quite frankly, it is about time we put them through their paces. They've had their chance to get settled; now it is time for them to prove themselves."

The Counselor pulled out his data-pad, quickly shuffling through various windows until he discovered what he's looking for. "We were originally planning some rudimentary target practice, giving the agents time to familiarise themselves with the various weapons we have on board. Obviously that exercise isn't quite…exerting enough for the evaluation we have in mind…"

He trailed off, lost in thought and I glanced over at him, murmuring: "We have a number of security personnel in reserve aboard the ship, do we not? Perhaps we could utilise them in this exercise? Live opponents are _always_ going to be more challenging than painted targets and turrets, Counselor."

He smiled, plans for this _challenge _running through his mind. "A fine idea, Director. I will get to work on it at once." With that he inclined his head towards me and leaves me, the doors _swooshing _behind him, just as they had done when the medic had left the room only a minute or two before.

"F.I.L.S.S. could you please bring up the status report on the Sim Trooper bases?" I asked, smiling slightly as a female voice quickly responds.

"Certainly, Director. As of this moment, forty Simulation Trooper bases have been fully constructed and garrisoned, with ten more currently under construction."

My smile widened, and I quickly flicked through my own data-pad, bringing up the various reports that F.I.L.S.S. had just summarised. _Everything is going according to schedule._ Various images appeared on the screen, headed with the dreadful names that seemed to follow any military project: Sidewinder, Blood Gulch, Rat's Nest, Valhalla, Zanzibar and many others, the name of each being even more ridiculous than the last.

Red and blue armoured soldiers were present in the majority of the pictures, all rejects from the UNSC, low-level operatives assigned to the project due to low test scores and poor field skills. The UNSC had been slightly puzzled when I had requested these soldiers, but eventually granted me the use of about four hundred of the most-incompetent of the soldiers amongst the UNSC.

After all, who really cares about a bunch of inept soldiers when the fate of humanity is at stake?

But they would come along later. At the moment, the Counselor doesn't believe the agents are ready to send into a simulation mission. No doubt he would rather that we organise some sort of Boy Scout outing, allowing them to "bond" as a team.

Well I will leave him to his doubt. I believe in my agents, and I know that they are up to whatever challenges I set for them. But the Counselor isn't entirely wrong. They still have a lot to learn if they intend on earning the title "Freelancer". Some more than others…

I sit down, facing a large blank screen. "F.I.L.S.S., would you be so kind as to run that video once more for me?" I ask, settling into my seat.

"Of course, Director," she replies in a smooth, almost motherly fashion. "Is there anything else I can do for you?"

I shake my head, her words barely registering in my mind. "No, F.I.L.S.S. That will be all for now."

With the AI dismissed, I clasp my hands together as the screen blinks into life, and I stare into Allison's eyes once more…


	7. Chapter 6: First Sign of Madness

**(A/N) Hey everyone! Happy Valentine's Day to y'all! Sorry this update is coming to you a little late. I've had blinding pains in my teeth for the last few days, think I've gotten about four hours of sleep in the last three days, and eventually found out that I'll probably need a root canal. Yay. But at least I'm pretty doped up on some pretty badass painkillers right now!**

**This chapter was written by the wonderful Avalanche Wolf, and here we finally get a look at Agent Alaska. Enjoy!**

**P.S. When I said action is coming soon, I mean **_**soon **_**soon. **

* * *

**Chapter Six – First Sign of Madness**

**Agent Alaska**

**Written by Avalanche Wolf**

* * *

"_We work in the dark - we do what we can - we give what we have. Our doubt is our passion and our passion is our task. The rest is the madness of art." – _Henry James

* * *

The smooth floor felt cool against his cheek. Alaska's eyes fluttered as he muttered to himself. "Ah yes. I see. Everything is so clear to me now." His hand gently stroked the floor as he spoke. He felt something hit the floor. _Feet._ Someone standing just shy of 6 feet landed near him. _His roommate, Florida._ Alaska heard his cheery voice, but tinged with a slightly worried tone.

"Um...are you okay?"

Alaska shushed his roommate softly and continued his mutterings. "Oh yes, I see. That is very interesting. You don't say? Oh my, he should be more careful. An engineer could get in very big trouble for something like that." He felt that Florida took exactly seven and a half steps down the room to grab his armour and equipment and leave the room.

Alaska sat up and looked at the door. A soft woman's voice spoke to him. "I think you scared him off." Alaska looked up and saw a woman with long auburn hair and silver eyes. She wore a tight fitting grey suit.

Alaska shrugged slightly. "The weak minded are always terrified of the brilliant. But let us not dwell on insignificant events, Moi. Tell me more about yourself."

The woman knelt down. "My skin is some of the toughest material known from Earth. I would tell you more about my engines, but I'm afraid they are still considered classified information."

He pouted. "Aw Moi, why must we keep playing like this? You know I know that you know I will find out eventually. Why not just tell me?"

"A woman's prerogative." She stood up and walked towards the door. "You know you will see me around the ship."

A smile crossed his face. "Of course. I look forward to it, sweet Moi. I do hope we can continue this conversation later." He stood up and watched her walk through the door. He sighed and walked to his locker. "Parting is such bittersweet sorrow." He pulled out his armour. Blood red with black as its trim. This was his new uniform. He put it on, making sure that everything was properly secured and appeared right. "Yes. I believe that I could get used to this."

Alaska grabbed his helmet and walked out of the room. He looked around at the walls as he walked. "Why yes Moi. I do think you look very lovely today." He noticed that a couple of the crew looked at him with odd looks. As he approached the mess hall, he stopped near the door, listening to the other members talk.

"I'm telling you, the guy gives me the creeps." Alaska knew this voice. Gruff, slight intelligence in the voice. Agent...York. Creepy? Alaska was called many things. Psychotic, paranoid, manic, insane. Sure, maybe he was all these, but creepy? That was new to him. Another voice spoke. This one was a woman. Feminine, yet a strength in her voice. A strong determination. Carolina. That's the one. He listened as she spoke. "I'm sure that he's not all that creepy."

"When a guy is lying face down on the deck and talking to the ship, that has to come up on somebody's radar. I just hope this guy isn't some major freak."

Freak! He forgot that one. How many times has Alaska been called freak? He lost count. He walked in and noticed that at his first step, all conversation stopped. He walked to the food servers and grabbed a tray. "A large leg of mutton and a flagon of meade."

The servers looked at him with a shocked looked. "Um, we don't have any of those."

Alaska sighed. "My, what is this world coming to? Very well. I will take what you have." Once the food was on his plate, he took the food and walked back to sit with the other members of the program.

Alaska looked around at the others and smiled. "Hello my companions and compatriots. I do hope that all of you are well and happy." He looked down at the food and knew exactly how it was. All UNSC food was the same. They looked like what they were supposed to, but they lacked the taste. The only thing that tasted right was the drink. He heard another voice. Soft. Caring. Almost...motherly. Massachusetts. "Mutton and meade?" Alaska took a drink of his juice and spoke once he set down his glass.

"In the ancient times, warriors in the Norwegian area would feast on mutton and meade. It was considered the food and drink of champions and heroes. It seemed appropriate." He paused and took another sip from his drink. "You all may think I am insane or...creepy, but I am very much intelligent, and I know things about all of you." He looked at each member and said something he knew was true, starting with Massachusetts.

"You took exactly thirteen and an eighth steps to leave your room. It only took you eight and a half to leave, but you moved to look at something before you left." He moved to Pennsylvania. "You left your water running for four minutes and twenty seven seconds before using it. Waste not, want not." He then turned to Virginia. "You woke up exactly three minutes later than you wanted to. Restless sleep? A nightmare? You tend to toss and turn before you awaken."

The Counselor walked in and everyone turned to him. He spoke as he looked out at the Freelancers. "Good morning. I trust you all slept well. Today will be the first of many challenges you will face. Please report to the training room for a full briefing." With that said, the Counselor left the mess hall. Alaska stood up and took his tray in hand. "I will see you all soon." He got rid of his tray and walked out down the halls of the ship. "This seems to be a unique opportunity."

"How so?" Moi appeared next to him, walking the same pace as him. Alaska smiled and kept walking. "A trade for a trade, Moi. Are you ready to tell me more about your engines?"

"You know I can't do that."

"Always with your games, Moi. Very well. It is like the ancient times. Brothers against brothers. Sisters against brothers. Brothers against second cousins. It is a competition our dear Director is setting out for us."

"Very ambitious."

"Not ambitious. _Brilliant_. It is almost like he wants so much internal strife that soon we will be ready to tear each other apart. It's delicious." Moi stopped walking and stood still. "Arrogance is most often followed by failure." Alaska turned to look at her. "Moi, you have such little faith in me?" Moi lowered her head, looking at the floor. "I just...I don't want to see you rise so high, just to fall farther than anything anyone has known." With that, she turned and walked through a wall.

Alaska stared for a while longer before turning and continuing his walk to the training room. As he walked into the room, the Director was finishing his talk to the others. He looked at Alaska. "Agent Alaska, I will not tolerate lateness on my ship."

Alaska smiled and shrugged. "Dear Director, I am never late. I arrive exactly when I mean to."

The Director kept his stare. "As long as you serve on this team, you will arrive when you are told."

Alaska gave a bow. "As the Master commands." He walked over and sat on a bench while the Director explained what exactly this training exercise involved.

"This will be the first of many tests and training. In this training room, there are eight security personnel patrolling. Your objective is to eliminate the threat of the security. Pillars will be up to provide cover and concealment. You are to eliminate the threat as quickly and as efficiently as possible. Are there any questions?"

Alaska saw Pennsylvania raise his hand. "What are the guards equipped with?"

This time, it was the Counselor's turn to speak. "They are standardly equipped. Pistols, grenades, automatic rifles."

Pennsylvania coughed a bit. "A bit more than standard."

Virginia spoke next. "Are we able to take any weapons and equipment with us?"

Before the Counselor answered, the Director spoke. "There are weapons waiting for you on the training room floor, similar to the weapons you saw yesterday in the armoury, but for one fact: they're loaded with paint that will send your suit into lockdown if you are hit. I hope I'm correct in assuming none you will have to experience this for yourselves?"

He looked around the room, into the impassive visors of the assembled Freelancers. Silence filled the room for a moment, until the Director appeared to grudgingly accept that his point had been made. "Good! Ingenuity, originality and resourcefulness will be heavily rewarded in this test. Is there anything else?" When no one spoke up, he continued. "Very well. Let us begin."


	8. Chapter 7: Watch Your Back

**(A/N) Hey guys! We're back for a new update! And finally we get to see some ACTION! This chapter is brought to you by one of our admins, the fabulous Ayane458. From the point of view of Agent Massachusetts and I hope you'll love this as much as I did. Enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter Seven – Watch You Back**

**Agent Massachusetts**

**Written by Ayane458**

* * *

"_The first round of Freelancers shows great promise. Superior to the average soldier indeed, but a long way from our goal of a team capable of saving humanity." –_ Director Leonard Church, extract from personal journal, recorded late on the second day.

* * *

Everything seemed to happen fast in Freelancer, Massa reflected.

It might have been simply because it was the second day and the first full one –so many things had to be sorted out. The 'recruits' (seriously, it felt so strange to be called a recruit again, especially after all she had done to ditch the title) had to be given an idea of how things would work here. Didn't change the fact that they'd had no time to really settle nor a lot of time to sleep before being hustled into this challenge.

Right now, a man who'd been assigned the name 'Wyoming' was starting the training off.

Eight white-armoured men were scoping out the training floor, complete with blocks that provided cover and hiding places, in pairs. Wyoming had situated himself a bit to the right of all of them, preventing himself from getting caught in the centre and presumably using the motion trackers their armour came with to avoid being seen.

Time _mattered_ here. That was made clear in the rules. That guy had better hurry up or else he'd be getting… whatever the slower ones got as a punishment.

Massa shifted slightly, all of a sudden feeling a little uncomfortable. She was leaning against the window of the observation booth to get a better look at the fight. A blue-armoured man, Florida, stood to her right, and her new roommate, Virginia, to her left.

Virginia seemed intent on the match, so focused that Massa would've felt guilty distracting her. Florida was… not quite as attentive and occasionally bobbed his head as if he had some upbeat music playing in there.

It felt like there should be joking, maybe some betting on how the guy with the weird accent would go, at least some talk about how someone or other could do this ten times better or a million times faster. They'd broken a little ice last night, right?

She decided that people were still testing the waters, unsure of each other. No one ever wanted to break the silence. The ice would melt soon enough and then there'd be as much chatter as in her old company.

A strangled cry from the training room drew her attention, and she saw one of the other guys – what was his name? Alaska, that's it –move a little closer to the window to get a better view.

Wyoming had made his move.

One pair of the troopers had been left pinned to each other through the paint on their helmets, unable to move as the goo activated their armour lock. The shots had been fired from the guy's sniper rifle almost simultaneously. While she may not have been paying as much attention as she could have been, Massa was still impressed that she didn't know which soldier he'd aimed at first.

The other six rushed to their fallen comrades. Bad move. Wyoming was already moving around far behind them, dashing between the blocks quickly and making sure he only moved when they weren't looking.

Now the six were lined up in a neat little row. They seemed to realise their positioning was not wise, and tried to move…

…but three shots were fired before any of them could take more than a step.

Three shots, and three more went down in near-sync.

"Wow, he is good," Florida said cheerfully from next to her. His voice made most of the people in the room jump. He looked around at the visors now staring at him and you could _tell_ he was grinning from ear to ear under that helmet. "What d'you say? Special forces?"

"We aren't supposed to know," a woman named Carolina replied firmly. Massa had decided Carolina was going to at least _try_ to be the leader here. It just seemed to be ingrained in her personality.

"Just a guess," Florida shrugged, his cheeriness never abating.

"Looks like a pretty good guess," Massa decided as she watched the final three go down.

One had tried desperately to run to the nearest cover, tripping over a fallen soldier on the way and was shot in the head before he could hit the ground.

The last two Wyoming toyed with. Purposely allowing himself to be seen in one area, only to sneak halfway across the room to be seen again, before playing the same trick. He was showing off his speed and stealth. The two soldiers were yelling and firing wildly until he finally put them out of their misery and ended the match with two quick shots.

Eight soldiers, eight shots fired, eight hits to the head. The match had lasted six minutes but Massa got the impression he could've halved that time had he felt the need.

"Round over," FILSS declared. Massa found FILSS fascinating, if only because she was the first AI she had ever seen. Or heard. Didn't AIs usually have holographic avatars? Maybe that was only on the bridge…

"Agent Wyoming's score recorded. Agent Florida, report for round two," FILSS continued.

"Wish me luck," Florida chirped, exiting the observation booth with a jaunty skip in his step.

"Good luck," Massa and York called after him. One or two others murmured something to that effect.

"He was certainly… cheerful," York noted. Massa decided she would probably be able to get along with him in the long term.

"Let's see if he's any good," Carolina said, taking Florida's place beside Massa to get a better view of the training floor. They were still lifting out the eight guys who Wyoming had faced –seemed to be having problems with the two stuck together.

"How do you think he'll do?" Massa asked, directing the question at Pennsylvania. He had been silent so far and she wasn't sure if it was from shyness or reserve (likely the latter, considering the circumstances) but it couldn't hurt to try and draw him out of his shell a little.

"I think he'll do alright. He may act a little… strange for a soldier, but he must be skilled to be here," Pennsylvania replied with a tone of finality, ending the conversation.

Wyoming entered the room looking distinctly pleased with himself.

"What do you think, chaps?" he asked them all.

Before any of them could answer, FILSS declared the start of the round. His question was forgotten in favour of watching how Florida would complete the task.

His style was largely like Wyoming's in the sense that he preferred stealth and taking them out one by one instead of going for larger targets. Unlike Wyoming, he wasn't very showy and used an assault rifle with an under slung _grenade launcher_. Massa was not aware that they had paint grenades, but presumed they did because otherwise the attachment seemed pointless.

Once again, the eight soldiers spread out in pairs and Florida elected to track them one team at a time. He was patient, and positioned himself so that none of the other soldiers would have a clear shot when he popped out of cover and attacked the team closest to him.

Which he did, spraying the two with paint and freezing them in place. He paused for a second by the bodies, half-hidden by one of the blocks, before one pair began to cautiously make their way towards the other two. He quickly slipped away, dodging behind the other team that came to inspect their two downed comrades.

As the two approached, a grenade burst and splattered them both in paint.

Florida had primed and placed a grenade right next to one of those guys. It had been a trap.

The big guy that stood towards the back, Pennsylvania, now seemed to be paying much closer attention.

"Guess he's not as out of it as he acts," York commented.

Four down, four to go.

He took out two in the same stealthy way he had done it to the first couple, easily avoiding the scattered fire that headed his way upon revealing his location.

The last team he simply walked up behind and took them down with a burst of fire.

It seemed the man had simple tastes, preferring the practical to the flashy. The trick with the grenade was the most exceptional moment throughout the session.

"Round over," FILSS announced.

It had taken five minutes.

"He didn't take as long as you," York said to Wyoming.

"He also didn't show off as much," Massa added jokingly. "Not sure if the latter is a good thing or a bad thing, though."

"He did say he was looking for flair," Wyoming agreed. He seemed agitated –maybe the guy couldn't take much ribbing.

"Agent Florida's score recorded," FILSS chirped. "Agent Alaska, please report for round three."

The red-armoured man headed out the door with no comments to the others, passing a cheery Florida as he went.

"That wasn't too hard," Florida said to them all, and then addressed Alaska, "Good luck!"

Alaska nodded once and then walked past him, down the hall.

Florida seemed undeterred as he joined the rest of the Freelancers in the booth.

"Gosh, it's not a very forgiving test though, is it?" he said to them all. "One hit and you're out."

"Won't be a problem if you don't get hit," Carolina replied.

The floor was set up again and more troops were herded in. Alaska strode in with the same no-nonsense air he had on everywhere else. He picked up his primary and secondary weapons – a DMR and a pistol. A pretty precise weapon for mid-long distance and a pistol. And here Massa had pegged him as a more up-close-and-personal guy.

"How long do you think he'll take?" York asked no one in particular. Massa would've answered him, but Carolina spoke before she could.

"Getting impatient?" she asked in what might have been her way of joking. "It'll be your turn soon enough."

"Just trying to start a betting pool, ma'am," York replied sweetly in a way that meant he had interpreted her comment as a joke. "Ten bucks on under five minutes."

"Why's that?" Wyoming snapped, turning away from the beginning of the fight to York. His time had been six minutes. Perhaps York should have thought his comment through.

"I don't know, I just guessed he was the kind of guy to go for the quick and simple route," York shrugged off Wyoming's annoyance easily.

"That's quite cliché," Massa cut in, looking at the three over her shoulder.

"Pay attention to the match, why don't you?" Carolina… well, Carolina ordered. The three others obeyed, but Virginia finally piped up.

"Not a whole lot is happening in the match," she murmured without looking up, perhaps specifically to undermine Carolina –that's the way Carolina seemed to see it anyway, and sent a sharp look at the other woman's back.

_Still bitter about the cafeteria incident yesterday? _Massa wondered. Her roommate hadn't exhibited the ability to hold a grudge before, but it was still the first day. She was just learning new things about the people around her all the time, wasn't she?

In any case, the match was a little boring, though not for those involved in it.

Alaska seemed to be a skilled puppet-master. He would make a noise, show himself just enough to attract the guards… and then appear on the other side of the room, surprisingly speedy in getting away from his pursuers and making more noise in the exact opposite direction.

He was making it seem as if he had surrounded them. The eight troops were terrified.

"Almost makes you feel sorry for them, doesn't it?" Virginia half-whispered.

"Not even close," Carolina replied.

A knock on a block had one jumpy soldier said a burst of bullets in Alaska's direction, Alaska hunkering down behind the block until it ended. The others seemed to sense an opportunity in having him pinned down _for once_, so quickly moved to encircle him.

Massa wasn't particularly skilled at reading people, but even she could see the precise second when Alaska must've thought 'screw this'.

He took the legs off of the first few soldiers who exposed themselves, leaving five left to deal with. Three of the remaining soldiers tried to rush him while two had the idea of going for more stealthy tactics again, backing off. Alaska shot the three twice each before they could reach him, going over each once, then twice, as if making sure they stayed down.

The two who had backed off before seemed to decide to just get it over with and spun around the block, trying to get a shot in before Alaska could…

…but Alaska shot them both, one with the pistol and one with the DMR.

"You can't shoot a DMR one-handed!" York yelped.

"You can, kind of," Massa replied, thinking back to her old company and the rather stupid things they would attempt on the firing range –all in complete safety, of course.

"I suppose he's practised somewhere," Wyoming shrugged.

"Round over," FILSS announced. Alaska had taken seven minutes, but most of that was just him messing around.

"Agent Alaska's score recorded," she continued. "Agent Massachusetts, please report for round four."

Massa took a slow, deep breath before pushing herself away from the window and heading for the door.

"Good luck," York and Florida yelled after her.

"Hopefully I won't need it!" she called back jokingly, hoping her gratitude for the well-wishing was detected.

She headed down the stairs towards the hall that led to the training room, passing Alaska along the way.

"Good luck, Massachusetts," he said as he passed her, not breaking his step.

"Thanks, Alaska." She looked over her shoulder briefly to see if he would respond. He was already halfway up the stairs.

Massa tried to shake off her nerves, thankful that no one was there to see her. She wasn't entirely sure how she'd measure up to the first three. She was a combat medic, not a medical soldier. While she'd been trained to fight with the others in her unit and could undoubtedly hold her own, her true talents lay in other areas.

But hell, if the first three didn't get shot, she sure wouldn't.

When she entered the training room the paint from the previous fight had mostly been scraped up and the eight soldiers were milling around the other end of the room. They weren't paying attention to her and they were apparently not allowed to see which weapons she chose.

Massa kept things simple. An assault rifle, a pistol and two modified frag grenades. She could work with these.

She took a position behind a block close to her, waiting for the sound of FILSS's voice.

"Round, start," she announced.

Massa considered her options.

She was not as stealthy as the others and she sure couldn't manipulate the soldiers to her bidding like Alaska. Her weapons were not long range, so she couldn't take them out from a distance like Wyoming. As for Florida's strategy, well… it just wasn't her style.

Massa checked her motion trackers. One pair was heading straight for her, but another looked like they would end up able to shoot her if she tried to shoot the two once they cleared the block next to her. She slowly looked around the corner to see which way they were facing, and then hopped over two blocks so they would cross the last line of blocks right next to her.

She didn't give them the chance.

As soon as they were close enough, she spun around the corner and sprayed them both with paint from the modified AR. They both froze.

She couldn't resist tipping one over.

Shouts alerted her to the attention she had drawn. Massa ran for more cover, trying to put as much distance between her and the ones she had taken down as possible. Another shout alerted her that she'd been spotted and she screeched to a halt as a shower of paint appeared in front of her. She hunkered down behind a block, now with both sides cut off as pink flew past her and splattered onto nearby blocks.

Massa rolled her eyes, switched to her pistol for the moment, and waited.

The idiots, possibly in the excitement of finally having an enemy pinned, seemed to have forgotten that guns had to be reloaded.

The pair on her right ran out first and before the two behind them could continue the assault, Massa leaped out from behind the block to that side.

She let out three shots. Wildly aimed on the run, admittedly, but two soldiers went down for her efforts.

_Only four more,_ she promised herself.

She continued to move around the four, coming to rest a fair bit away and peering around the block to get a look. The remaining soldiers were now looking around and wisely putting a bit of distance between each other. She could only see two, but guessed from what showed on the trackers that they all faced out in different directions, preventing any slow, stealthy approach.

Massa was confident that she could work around that.

While the remaining four were a decent distance away from each other, they were still in a pretty small area. One pair was fairly close to her. She couldn't hope to take them both out before someone got a shot off, but there was something she could do.

Flicking the pin out of a grenade, she threw it back towards them. One scrambled back in time to avoid the blast, the other was blasted with pink.

Now that that the grenade had gotten them within a reasonable range of each other, Massa made her move.

She jumped out from cover, using her assault rifle in the classic 'spray and pray' fashion. Apparently some deity was feeling generous that day, because two collapsed under the onslaught. It was now one vs. one, and her opponent was hiding.

Her motion trackers didn't tell her where he was because he wasn't in motion. So she ducked behind some cover, watched, and waited.

She strained her ears as well, desperately trying to hear anything that could indicate his location. A blip on her tracker moved slowly and quickly faded out, quite a bit behind her and to her left. It appeared again, moving a little closer. And again. And again.

It was indeed to her understanding that the motion trackers _could_ be tricked if you moved slowly enough, which this man was not doing. Was this really the average level of soldier in the UNSC?

In any case, she decided to end it with a bang and the first thing she had done that could really be considered 'flashy'.

Massa paid careful attention to where the man was, took into account the angles and her position, before priming a grenade and throwing it at a block. It ricocheted off sharply with a _thunk_ and landed near the soldier.

A high-pitched yelp preceded a bang and a _splat_ has paint went everywhere.

Massa cheerfully got up and looked around the room. She sure had caused more of a mess than her stealthy predecessors. Hopefully points wouldn't be redacted for that.

She left the training room, handing in her weapons, feeling very satisfied.

"Round over," FILSS declared. The clean-up crew entered the room behind her and began the task of dragging out the soldiers and scraping away the paint.

York and Florida greeted her with 'congratulations' while Virginia piped in with a 'pretty good'. Massa translated that as high praise from the rather timid agent.

Carolina, however, was unimpressed.

"Very noisy," she said frankly.

Massa shrugged off her comment. "They aren't all going to be stealth missions."

Carolina sighed and walked around to Massa back, picking at the armour there.

"Hey, what are you –!"

In response, Carolina held up the fleck of paint which Massa had been hit with.

"Watch your back," she ordered. "They're not all going to be paint guns."


	9. Chapter 8: One Woman Army

**(A/N) It's another chapter, this time brought to you by the exceptional ParabolaOfMystery, and occurs from the viewpoint of Agent Carolina herself. Come on, admit it. You've all been waiting for this. I can promise that you won't be disappointed. This'll conclude the training excercise, and on Saturday things will...begin to make sense a little more I think... After reading this chapter, I'd love to know what our readers think the results will turn out. Be prepared for some...surprises. **

**'Til next time! Enjoy! **

* * *

**Chapter Eight – One Woman Army**

**Agent Carolina**

**Written by ParabolaOfMystery**

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_"I do the very best I know how - the very best I can; and I mean to keep on doing so until the end." _- Abraham Lincoln

* * *

Carolina looked down at the fleck of paint on her finger that had come off Massachusetts' armour. Under her helmet, she couldn't help but smirk. Massachusetts' trial had been okay, but noisy and messy. Not to mention she'd gotten splattered. If she was actually out in the field, that paint splatter could have been a shard of shrapnel, piercing one of the softer parts of Massa's armour. She sniffed and flicked the speck on the floor. There would be no splatter during her own trial. None at all.

She had been observing the others, carefully. Wyoming had been stealthy and precise, but cocky. Alaska had been sly and aggressive, but reckless. And Massa just seemed somewhat inexperienced to her. Out of those few, Carolina decided Florida had the best run; he was practical and clever, and didn't take unnecessary risks. There was also that grenade trick. Carolina tucked that into the back of her mind. It could come in handy one day.

"This is exciting!" Florida chirped happily, breaking the silence.

"Agent Pennsylvania, report for round five," F.I.L.S.S. stated calmly.

"Good luck, man," York said, clapping him on the back as Pennsylvania left. Carolina stared at him. Of all the freelancers here, he seemed the only one besides Florida that sincerely wanted to be nice to everyone. It was strange, and somewhat unheard of. She blinked, and noticed that York was staring at her as well. She looked away quickly, trying to ignore the heat that had rushed to her face.

Meanwhile, Pennsylvania was getting himself situated. He had seemed hesitant in grabbing weapons, but eventually chose a DMR and a few grenades.

"Round, start," F.I.L.S.S. announced.

Most of the white-armoured soldiers had spread out, occasionally ducking behind a different block or peeking out the sides. Only one soldier was creeping toward Penn, who had his back turned.

"They seem to be pretty scared of us now," Massa pointed out.

"I wonder why," Virginia chuckled.

"He'd better check his sensors," Wyoming muttered as the lone soldier crept closer and closer yet to Penn.

"Just wait," Carolina said. There was no way Penn would go down so easily- and she was right. Just as the soldier triumphantly put his battle rifle to Penn's blue-armoured head, the Freelancer spun around, fist flying; there was a large _crack_that reached all the way to the observation deck as the soldier's head was smashed into a block.

"Ho-lee shit," York gasped. "He just punched that guy in the face." The soldier lay crumpled on the ground, his helmet cracked. There was a bright smear of blood on the block where his head had connected. Penn didn't seem to care; he had silently slipped away and began stalking the remaining soldiers.

"Is he even still alive?" Virginia said, her helmet pressed against the glass as she peered down.

Carolina stared at the blood smear. "Does it matter? This is training. Accidents happen." The words tasted sour in her mouth. She felt the other Freelancers staring at her, but she didn't say anything. They needed to get used to accidents like this, whether they were truly accidental or not. She already knew that there would be many, many more accidents to come. As she watched Penn take out another soldier, this time shooting with the DMR at point-blank range, she had the feeling that Penn might be a bit more involved with accidents than necessary.

Penn continued to take out the soldiers one by one in the same brutal manner until the remaining ones were simply trying to stay away from him as long as possible. Unfortunately, their evasions led to a lot of time-consuming chasing by Penn, which added to his time. Finally he had cornered the last soldier, swept his legs out from under him with his foot, and shot him square in the forehead.

"Round over. Agent Virginia, report for round six." F.I.L.S.S. said. Virginia got up and left to prepare. A door opened and a group of white-clothed medics rushed out with a stretcher to examine the fallen soldier, who was still on the ground. Carolina couldn't tell if he'd stirred or not. _Get well soon, buddy._

York tilted his head as if not sure what to make of Pennsylvania's trial. "Hmm. Well… I guess he was effective," he managed.

Penn re-entered the observation deck. Carolina couldn't help but noticed the chipped paint on his knuckles. "How'd I do?" he asked, taking off his helmet and running a hand over his dark hair.

No one said anything at first. Carolina herself was trying to come up with something to say, but held her tongue.

"Seven minutes thirty seconds," Alaska said finally.

Penn seemed to bite his lip at the time, but then shrugged and put his helmet back on. "Not too bad."

Back in the arena, Virginia had chosen a sniper rifle and a magnum. Long range and short range. It was a good choice, but Carolina felt it was generic, like she wasn't sure what weapons to choose. But who knew? Maybe they worked for her.

"Round, start."

Unlike Penn's trial where the white soldiers had stayed put, this time they all advanced on Virginia in a wide arc. Carolina could imagine gears spinning in Virginia's head as she tried to figure out how to get out of there without attracting too much attention at once. With a blur of dark green armour, the Freelancer leapt on top of one of the tall blocks and flattened raised her eyebrows. _Interesting_. The soldiers on the ground would be expecting their target to be on the ground as well, and the dark green of her armour helped her blend in at least a little bit. Virginia practically made herself invisible.

"Now that's smart," Massa admitted.

"Look at those hooligans," Florida chuckled, pointing. The white soldiers were standing in a circle around the pillar that she was on top of, wondering if there was a malfunction with their sensors and trying to figure out wherever the Freelancer went. "She's got them in a puzzle."

Then Virginia made her move - she somersaulted off the top of the pillar, planting her feet on the shoulders of one of the troopers and hopping to the next pillar, where she turned at used the magnum to shoot. Out of six shots, four of them hit; by now she had their attention, so she turned and hopped over three more pillars before she jumped down to hide again.

"That was cool," Massa said, smiling.

Carolina didn't agree. "It was a wasted opportunity," she sighed, as Virginia ducked quickly from block to block. "If she'd waited until their backs were turned, she could have taken out more of them."

"Give it a rest," Massa groaned.

Meanwhile, the last four soldiers searched for Virginia in one group. She had them in sight, and seemed to be planning her next move. Finally she vaulted almost gymnastically over a block, where she landed smack in the middle of the group.

_Flashy._

Before they could think, she crouched and swept her leg in a circle, knocking all but one onto the ground. He shot at her, but she shoulder rolled out of the way as paint splattered behind her. She then got up swiftly and spun in a roundhouse kick, catching him in the face; he went down. She stood surrounded by downed soldiers. When a two of them stirred and tried to make a move, she decided to end it all quickly by shooting each of them in the head with her magnum.

"Round over. Agent Carolina, report for round seven." Carolina took a breath and started for the arena. She didn't see a reason to wait for Virginia.

"Good luck, Carolina," York called as she hurried down the stairs. "Kick some ass!"

She already knew what she was going for with this trial. Quick elimination. Nothing too flashy, just lightning fast and deadly, not as completely unforgiving like Penn was, not as flashy as Virginia. She still needed weapons, though. On the table was a wide array of weapons. There was a rocket launcher, a gravity hammer, battle rifles, sniper rifles… she needed something small and simple and not too flashy.

A pair of light blue guns that matched her armour lay on the table. She'd never seen them before. They seemed like some sort of alien technology and she resisted the urge to pick them up. _Another day. _Instead, she picked up two magnums. She could almost hear the other soldiers muttering about her weapon choice, and she smiled.

"Round, start," F.I.L.S.S. announced.

Carolina ducked behind a barrier. Her motions sensors picked them up right away- There were two hiding a few rows down from her, with two more in almost the exact same places in the next row. If she ran down the centre row, there would be a soldier on either side of her. That would work out nicely. Very symmetrical, and if she timed it just right…

The other four were at the very end of the arena, hiding in a group. The soldiers were either waiting for her to make the first move, or still organizing themselves. _They won't be expecting this soon_, Carolina thought. _They probably think I'm trying to make up my mind._She spun from behind the barrier and charged down the centre row.

The first pair jumped in surprise as she approached them. She didn't break her stride, but with both arms straight out at her sides, pulled both triggers as she passed. They both collapsed to the ground, faces and upper body exploding with stiff pink paint. She dropped into a slide as the next pair shot the air where her upper body had been a fraction of a second before. She shot the magnums simultaneously again, this time hitting each in the ground. They clattered to the floor comically, making high pitched squeaking noises.

Carolina jumped out of her slide, and picked up her sprint. She was about five rows away from the other end of the arena now. Out of the corner of her eye she saw that the last four had rearranged; two were behind blocks, as the other troopers had been, but the others stood behind the adjacent sides of the other's blocks. Her double-shooting would work on the two that she would sprint past like it did for the other soldiers, but not the ones that would then be behind the blocks. After she sprinted past, they would move from behind the blocks and shoot her in the back.

This called for some improvisation.

She put as much power into her sprint as she could. She would need it. She passed the first pair of remaining soldiers. The paintballs hit them each full in the face. Then it felt like time slowed; the final two soldiers stepped from behind their blocks. Carolina planted her foot and pushed herself into the air. She felt pellets of paint whizz by her. She arched her back and flung her other foot forward, feeling her body spin upside down, until she had a wonderful of her magnums firing pink pellets at the inverted soldiers. She couldn't see if they it, as she kept spinning. She didn't need to. Her foot hit the ground again first, and she landed in a kneeling position. Her landing ankle twitched in pain, but she ignored it, instead listening to the two soldiers clatter to the ground.

She heard York's muffled yell from the observation deck. _"What?!"_

"Round over. Agent York, report for round eight," F.I.L.S.S. stated in her cool tone.

Carolina stood and headed back to the observation deck, panting slightly. She dropped her magnums on the weapons table as she passed.

"Don't tell me," York said, striding down the last couple of stairs. "You're a Galactic Olympic Gold-Medal Gymnast. If I would've known that earlier, I wouldn't even have come. They have a one-woman army right here."

Carolina blushed. _Why am I blushing? Stop it._ "I don't know about that."

"Come on, you were the best so far." He leaned against the stairwell casually. "Besides me, of course."

"You didn't even go yet."

"Yes, but I'm about to." He strode past her, snatching a battle rifle and shotgun off the table. "Watch and learn, baby!" he called.

Carolina rolled her eyes and went up the observation tower.

She was greeted by some clapping (Wyoming, probably trying to be polite), cheering ("You go, girl!" yelled Florida), and what she could only guess was jealousy or disbelief from the others. She half wished that they weren't wearing their helmets right now, so she could see their reactions. Not that she really cared if they liked her or not. She was simply curious. She wasn't expecting anyone to be friend with her, nor was she aiming to be buddy-buddy with anyone.

"Look who decided to use some flashy acrobatics," Virginia muttered. It seemed like she was a little bitter from the cafeteria earlier. Sure, Carolina had been a tiny bit of a bitch, but that was how she usually was. People were going to have to get used to it. "'Those aren't going to get you credit anywhere.'"

"It's not flashy if it is necessary for survival," Carolina answered calmly.

"Flashy or not, that was quite the show!" Florida clapped her on the back. "I've never seen someone move so fast in my life! Your whole trial was under two minutes!"

"Maybe you and Alaska should have a race," Pennsylvania suggested. "You're both pretty quick. That would be interesting." Carolina glanced at Alaska, who was cold and impassive as ever. There was something about him that unsettled her, but she respected that. He wasn't afraid or hesitant at all. Penn turned to the window. "Oh look, he's started."

"What is he doing?" Massa asked, half laughing.

York was calmly striding down a row of blocks, his gun over his shoulder. Whenever a white soldier peeked out from behind a block, York flipped the shotgun off his shoulder in one lightning fast movement, and there would be a blast and an explosion of pink paint and a soldier would clatter to the ground. It seemed a little too easy to be possible; there were some split seconds where a soldier could have shot and easily taken York out, but waiting for him to shoot them instead.

Carolina looked around; no one else seemed to notice. "How is he just walking though the place and winning?"

When he came to the last two soldiers, he hardly did anything. They stood facing each other, guns aimed. It seemed like York was talking to them, but Carolina couldn't even fathom what. Eventually the two lowered their guns and York shot them both in the chest. They clattered to the ground, and he walked over to them, said something else, and patted them each on the head.

"Round over. Session One Complete."

"What the hell just happened?" Penn growled, clearly infuriated by York's display.

When York arrived back the observation deck, he bowed. "Thank you, thank you."

"How did you do that?" Virginia asked.

York shrugged. "Those guys have been fighting us all day. They're tired. I just asked the last two guys if they wanted to spend a while fighting me vigorously or if they just wanted to be done for the day. Then I asked them if they wanted to get drinks with me." He paused for a second. "Does this ship have a bar?"

Florida yawned. "Well, I'm pooped. Might as well go look at the results so we can scurry off to bed. I'm in need of some shut-eye."

He paused for a moment. "They do put up the results, right?"

Carolina only shrugged in response, turning away from the blue Freelancer and staring back out at the Training Room floor. The other Freelancers filed out of the room, Penn glaring at York on his way out, until it was only York and Carolina left in the deck.

"You bribed them, didn't you?" Carolina asked, although she already knew the answer.

York shrugged and took off his helmet, revealing an easy smile. "I got to know a few of them, yes. No one told me I couldn't. It's all strategy," he added, tapping his head with his finger.

Carolina rolled her eyes. "I'm going to if we can get a look at the results," she said, brushing past him.

"Come on, Carolina!" he complained. "Have fun, Carolina! We're on a _spaceship,_for god's sake!"


	10. Chapter 9: The Best Freelancer

**(A/N) It's a Saturday and y'all know what that means by this stage! You got it, it's another update! Presenting the aftermath of the rigorous training excercise that they had all just taken part in is Agent Pennsylvania, or Penn, written by the marvellous Jerem6401. Will the results surprise you? Read on to find out!**

**This chapter brings an end to our first arc, which I had code-named Introduction. On Wednesday will come a new chapter, opening our new arc, which will be longer than this one, which I have taken to calling...Simulation. Any guesses on what we have in store for you?**

**One last thing. For those who have picked up on it, I have been editing these chapters to European spelling. For example, "color" has been changed to "colour", "armor" to "armour", "center" to "centre" etc. The only thing I have left in Americanised spelling is "Counselor", simply because this is a characters name. These are _not_ typos. I have no real reason for doing this, it's just easier for me while editing them to change them to this form.**

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**Chapter Nine – The Best Freelancer**

**Agent Pennsylvania**

**Written by Jerem6401**

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"_It's not rage that drives me, it's competition."_ – Lennox Lewis

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I could see them avoiding me, staring at me, whispering about me. Not like I give a damn. It was in my nature to be this agitated after a training session. Aggression is what drives me… what can drive any soldier to be their best. I'm not used to ending a session by hearing "Training Complete." I'm used to two or three allies ripping me away from a victim while screaming "That's enough Ca–"

_No._

I suppose that's not my name anymore. Agent Pennsylvania… that's what they started calling me. I guess I could say friends call me "Penn." If I considered anyone here to be a friend.

We are Freelancers. Elite soldiers hand-picked by the Director to be the killing blow in the war. We have a job. It sickens me to see so much potential wasted by being all buddy-buddy with other soldiers. York and Carolina flirt like god damn teenagers out a stroll through the park, Florida lives in some fantasy land where everything's perfect, and Wyoming floats around the Mother of Invention spitting knock-knock jokes out his ass all day. Massachusetts is the worst of the bunch. Acting like a sister to everyone on board, like she's trying to win some popularity contest. It looks like the only one here I might coexist with is Alaska. He seems like someone who knows that we're here to do a job. Virginia is quiet, and I can't quite tell anything about her quite yet. She didn't impress me too much on the training floor… but I'm nervous she might be smarter than she appears.

The locker room was clean, with every surface being a borderline mirror. I wasn't used to such conditions. I preferred the dirt and sweat of the army barracks. I guess this would have to be home for now. I had never been stationed on a spacecraft before, let alone been in anything to the scale of the Mother of Invention. The Director had a lot of funding… I just hope he invested it in the right resources.

The training session was much more rigorous than I imagined. I knew I outshined the others… or at least most of them. But Carolina… something about her was different. I could just tell. Her performance was amazing, like some kind of super-soldier. And it… it's just not fair! I should be the best one here! Not her!

"Attention all members of Project Freelancer." I looked up at the ceiling at the small speaker that fed us the Director's voice. The others jumped to attention as well. I heard York groan at the thought of another training session. I looked back down to see his face, but he had already put his helmet back on, like he was expecting the session to begin in the locker room. Before I looked up again I met eyes with Alaska… only for a second before he broke the contact, and looked at the speaker as well.

"You are all to report to the conference chambers in Section 44 immediately," the Director ordered. I looked at my helmet on the bench next to me, the visor giving me a clear, reflected view of the other Freelancers in the room. I shook my head at the thought of another training session, knowing it was my chance to prove I was better than the others. I started to make myself angry again. Get myself ready for the upcoming challenge.

"Hey, Penn!" I heard from the across the room. My eyes shot open as I snapped back to reality. Florida was standing in front of me, his blue armour reflecting off of all the pristine surfaces around us. He reached his hand out to me, while the other was placed firmly on his hip.

"You coming? On the double, buddy!"

I could feel myself getting angry, but a fight with another Freelancer wasn't going to get me any more recognition from the Director… not unless he called for it. I reached out and grabbed hold of my helmet before pushing myself up off the bench. I slid the helmet over my head, hearing a rushing sound as it sealed itself to the rest of my armour. The visor distorted everything with a yellowish tint before my HUD came online. Details about Florida's health status and vitals flashed across my screen, like I was supposed to be looking out for his ass if we were ever in battle. I walked past him, knocking his left should back as I passed.

"Let's just go," I murmured. Florida didn't respond, and I wouldn't be surprised if my message didn't get across. That guy's head was thick. Even a bomb taking out half the MOI wouldn't ruin his day. I fell in behind Wyoming as we made our way deeper into the ship. We walked single file, except, of course, for Carolina and York who walked side-by-side at the front. Carolina seemed to know her way around much better than anyone else. Not like this place wasn't a god damned maze to begin with.

"Wonder what the Director has in mind for us now," Wyoming began. I knew his words were directed at me, even though he didn't turn his head. Besides his ungodly jokes, I didn't mind Wyoming that much. He always seemed like he was keeping something to himself. It was mysterious, and almost questionable whether or not I could trust him… I liked it.

"Don't know, don't care," I replied. "The Director isn't going to take me by surprise, no matter how hard he tries." Wyoming chuckled and shook his head slightly. _The cocky prick._

"We'll see about that, old chap." We kept walking as the signs on the walls next to us faded through the numbers until we reached 44. The conference chamber in here had nothing but a small projection table in the centre of the room, and a massive screen floating in the air, which was currently dimmed to a pitch black. We walked into the room, and like mice, flocked to the only structure in the centre. It could have been a trap for all we knew, but what did it matter. We were all just tools needed to solve a problem anyways.

"What the hell is this all about?" Alaska blurted out. York approached the table in the middle of the room and put his hands on it. He leaned forward and looked around.

"Maybe it's some kind of verbal test?" he suggested. "You know, like testing something other than our physical abilities."

"Yeah," Florida started, "like a team-building exercise? That would be just great!"

"Whatever you say, Butch," Massa chimed in. "Whatever it is, let's just get it done. Impress the Director, you know?"

"You already have," a voice called out. Like a ghost, the Director emerged from the shadows. Even with my HUD silhouetting his body, his appearance still startled me. "I was greatly satisfied with your performance on the training floor. Some of you…" he looked at Carolina for a moment, "more than others." He turned his head to Virginia, who instantly broke the eye contact and looked away towards the floor. Even her helmet couldn't hide the fact that she was blushing, and her vitals on my HUD began to pick up.

"So what if we did well?" York asked, like the Director was some old buddy of his. "We win a prize or something like that."

"Back in line, Agent New York!" the Director yelled. York put up his hands and stepped backwards.

"Yes, sir," he agreed. I was close enough to hear him when he leaned towards Carolina and spoke under his breath. "Someone has a stick up their ass." She didn't respond, but something made me think she was smiling under that mask.

"This is not a prize," the Director continued, "nor is it a punishment. This is simply a way to keep track of your progress as a soldier, and an asset to Project Freelancer." He reached out the table in front of him and pressed a button. The beeping sound that emitted from it was immediately overtaken by the massive screen above us. It lit up to a bright blue, which illuminated the entire rom around us. Several bars appeared on the screen with the numbers one through eight listed next to each one in order. Suddenly our names began to appear next to the numbers. It became disturbingly apparent to me that this was not a list… this was a ranking.

It wasn't surprising to me than Virginia was at the bottom, and again her vitals peaked, although I couldn't tell whether it was with shame or anger, when the other names appeared. Next up on the list was Florida, followed by Massachusetts. Again this didn't surprise me. As I've said before, being someone's friend doesn't make you a better soldier. You need to be ruthless to get anywhere. Seeing them at the bottom warmed my heart a bit… but I was shattered when the next name appeared on screen.

"What?!" I yelled. "Number 5?!"

"Calm down, Penn," York began, "not like this really means anything."

"Actually, York," the Director interrupted. "This scoreboard means everything. Only the top agents are sent into the field. I'm sorry Agent Pennsylvania, but if the mission calls for four, Agent Alaska will be entering the field, not you." I looked at Alaska, and I knew he could see me getting angry on his HUD.

"What's the problem, Penn," he started, "can't handle a little competition." Suddenly the rest of the names appeared, placing Alaska at fourth, York in third, Wyoming in second, and not surprisingly, Carolina was in first. I turned to Alaska, grinding my teeth together.

"You should keep your comments to yourself, Alaska," I growled. "You'll live longer." He turned to face me, and we were now only a few feet from each other. Our visors couldn't stop the eye contact as we tried to stare each other down.

"You don't scare me, Penn," he remarked.

"Then you don't know me well enough," I quietly replied.

"Enough!" yelled the Director. "Pennsylvania! Any problems you have with the current scoreboard can be remedied in future training sessions. Prove you're better than Alaska and you may earn your spot above him."

"Harsh," York commented.

"Hey c'mon," Florida began, "it could be a fun way to challenge each other."

"It is not to start a war," the Director finished. "It is so every Freelancer knows their place." We all looked at one another. Now there was a rank? A solid vision of who was better. The worst part is the Director thought there were four. He thought there were four people better than me!

"Director," Carolina called out. "Don't you think this seems a bit unfair? To put your soldiers in a compromised position like this? It's a massive blow to our trust in one another."

"We're done for today," the Director ordered. "You will learn your place, Agent Carolina! Do not question my authority on-board my own vessel. Unless you want Wyoming to take your place?" Carolina looked towards Wyoming who had his arms folded. He chuckled a bit and turned back to the Director.

"I'm sorry, sir," she said quietly. "I won't interrupt again."

"Good," he finished. "Dismissed." I looked at Alaska once again before he turned his head and walked out of the room. _That bastard. _He wasn't going to pretend like he was better than me. I'd show him… I'd show the Director… I'd show everyone. Suddenly I felt someone's hand on my shoulder as they passed. Pushing me slightly as they made their way to the door. I turned my head to see Massa making her way to the exit.

"You better watch out, Penn," she said in a snarky tone. "You're only one slot ahead of me. Next thing you know, we'll be painting a big number '6' on the back of your head." She turned away and walked out, followed by everyone else. I stood alone in the room, the scoreboard silhouetting my shadow on the ground in front of me. I closed my eyes and closed my hand into a fist. It almost hurt… and I wanted it to. The Director can't understand what he's done to me. I would prove I'm better than them. I had to prove I was better than them. I'm not one to just sit back and let this happen…

…_I'm the best Freelancer…_


	11. Chapter 10: The Next Step

**(A/N) Update time, yet again, and with this chapter we'll be kicking off Arc Two: Simulation. We have some _big _things in store for you guys, so please keep on reading. Loving the support from the community, and in a few weeks we'll have a big announcement about the next batch of Freelancers to take part in this story. But that's still a bit of a ways off yet. Until then though, you're just going to have to satisfy yourselves with this little chapter, from the Director's point of view, revealing the next step for project Freelancer. Would also like to thank all of those reading for doing just that, as I would like to announce, with some pride, that we passed out 1,500 views yesterday, and hopefully by this time two weeks we'll have passed out two thousand!**

**Enjoy!**

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**Chapter Ten - The Next Step**

**The Director**

**Written by NicKenny**

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_"I find that the best way to do things is to constantly move forward and to never doubt anything and keep moving forward, if you make a mistake say you made a mistake."_ - John Frusciante

* * *

The day after the agents were introduced to the leaderboard I was running through an overview of our current progress with F.I.L.S.S., focusing particularly on the progress of our simulation program. The Counselor had coined some ridiculous term for this program, calling them "red versus blue wars" which, to my distaste, had been taken up by several members of our personnel on board the _Mother of Invention, _including F.I.L.S.S. herself.

So far, progress had been promising, our bases complete and fully-manned, running through the various scenarios we had organised for them to keep them busy until we had further use for them. And very soon, we would. My plans were already in motion. It was time to move on to the next step.

But first, I had to deal with a few problems before we were ready to take the plunge.

"F.I.L.S.S. please send Agent Virginia in, would you?" I asked, wearily settling down into my chair, flicking through various frames on my data-pad absentmindedly.

"Of course, Director," she replied, presumably messaging Virginia at the same time. I often wondered how we coped before the creation of AI's, even "dumb" ones. Aboard the Mother of Invention, F.I.L.S.S. had proved indispensable.

In less than five minutes the doors _whooshed_ open to admit Agent Virginia into the room. She strolled in, clad in full dark green armour with dark red trim, her face masked behind her visor, snapping off a crisp salute when she reached my desk.

"At ease Agent," I wearily stated, waving a hand dismissively, watching her hands fall to her sides and her shoulders drop as she slid into a more comfortable stance.

"You wanted to see me, sir?" she murmured, and, while I couldn't tell whether or not she was meeting my gaze underneath her helmet, I somehow doubted it.

I smiled thinly, staring at her over steepled fingers. "Yes, Agent, I did. I hope you've had the time to dwell on the leaderboard. No doubt you've formed your own opinions at this stage. Could I ask for your honest opinion on these rankings?"

Virginia stared at me for a moment, clearing undergoing some sort of internal struggle before suddenly blurting out, "Permission to speak freely, sir?"

I nod slowly. "Permission granted."

Virginia nodded, then raised her arms and fiddled with the back of her helmet for a moment, found the clasps she was looking for, and slid off her helmet, revealing the young woman beneath the armour.

She wasn't much to look at, I must admit, but that applied for all of our Agents. Not one of them had anything about them that screamed highly-trained Special-Ops super soldier. Well, maybe Agent Pennsylvania, but that was only due to his immense size. And even with that, others had impressed me more in the training-room.

Green eyes, darker than my own or Agent Carolina's. Tanned skin, no doubt a result of exposure on planet's she had served on previously while in the UNSC. Black hair with one ridiculous looking neon-blue stripe dyed into it.

All in all, nothing about her suggested that she was anything more than a young woman from one of the Outer Colonies, whose only concerns involved where the next pay-check was coming from and what club to go to next Friday night.

Indeed, if I didn't have her test scores on my data-pad in front of me, along with a collection of currently streaming muted videos from her brief period in the marines, I myself would struggle to believe that this…girl had any place on this ship.

"Those rankings are bullshit, sir," she said, her eyes finally meeting my gaze, her mouth set in a line of grim determination. "There's no way in hell that I deserved to be last."

I raised my eyebrows questioningly. "Really? Then who would you have suggested?"

She raised her hands theatrically, shrugging slightly. "There's no doubt that everyone deserves to be here, but other than Carolina, Florida and maybe Alaska, all of the others made mistakes. Wyoming took way too long to take down those soldiers, preferring not play it safe and not take any risks. Penn potentially gave them a killing shot, just to demonstrate his physical strength. Massa actually got hit by a paint fleck, and didn't demonstrate any flair at all in her run! York…York actually bribed the soldiers into letting him take them out, a tactic that certainly won't apply on the battlefield!"

She stopped, suddenly aware of how loud her voice had become, and shrugged apologetically. "At least, that's how I see it, sir."

At least she's not unintelligent, I mused, staring at her for a moment, choosing my words. If only she was able to see the bigger picture.

"All of your observations were correct, Agent Virginia, that I cannot deny. However, I can't help but feel that you might have missed out on something here."

She frowned, her brow wrinkling in confusion as she puzzles over my statement. "What do you mean, sir?" she eventually replies.

"Did it ever occur to you that there was a reason behind why each of you were selected for this program? Agent Carolina's test scores were off the charts, so there was little hesitation there and I don't think that even you could deny that she deserves to be our Number One. We needed a demolitions expert, as most military operations do, and the UNSC had few operatives better than Agent Florida. His little demonstration with that frag grenade demonstrated his intelligence and was a testament to his ability."

I saw her nod along to what I was saying, although the reasons that I was giving her were, in truth, only half-reasons behind my selections of those operatives. But the other half I firmly intended on keeping to myself.

"Agent Wyoming's wariness is due to his experiences as an ODST sniper on Sansar. He has learnt that, in a real battle, haste gets you killed. Pennsylvania was chosen precisely because of his physical prowess. There will be times when your weapons won't serve you and then you will be happy to have a close combat specialist on your team. Massachusetts' experience is that of a combat medic, a soldier with a defensive mentality, not the offensive one that the rest of you seem to cherish. You'll be happy to have her by your side too, should the time come. Finally, Agent York was chosen as an infiltration specialist. The fact that he was able to think so quickly on his feet, and his knowledge of the human mind, only makes me more confident in my selection of him."

I stop, lecture finished, and stare at her for another moment.

"And Alaska?"

I frown, not entirely welcoming this question, or all that pleased with the sudden disappearance of the word "sir".

"Agent Alaska shone on the training floor, as you yourself admitted. He was chosen for a reason, just as the rest of you were, but for the meantime that shall remain known only to me, until we have a need for his…abilities."

I saw her pause, stiffening up a little at this curt response, but she nodded slowly in acceptance before looking up again once more.

"Why was I selected?"

I stare at her for a moment, one eyebrow raised in reprimand, and she quickly inclines her head in apology.

"Sir."

"You were selected for a myriad of reasons, Agent Virginia. I have no doubt that you've been wondering why you were chosen, while your sister, whose test scores were…noticeably higher, was not?"

She nods, clearly not trusting herself to speak up at this point. Her eyes are misting up slightly, no doubt missing her twin. Well I could sympathise with that. I knew what it was like to miss someone…

"I've followed your career for a long time, Agent. While you never shone in the same way that your sister had, your test scores where still remarkably high. When you factor into this equation the fact that you've spent you entire life living in your sister's shadow, I must confess. I was _intrigued_. Your sister had reached the limits of her potential, never having to push past any obstacles in her life. You however, were a different story."

I could see her clinging to every word that comes out of my mouth, not entirely able to believe what I was saying. This was probably the most honest that I've been with her, up to this point, but I still couldn't reveal the entirety of my reasoning behind her selection.

"I began to wonder that if we separated you from her, how much more would you improve? How much more could you give if you were removed from her shadow, and allowed to grow in the light? The reason why you are bottom of that leaderboard, Virginia, is not because you were the worst agent on the day, but because you _only_ gave it your best."

I could see confusion start to settle on her face, but I quickly raised my hand to prevent her from speaking. "I mean to say that you only gave the best from the person you were before you came into this project. I know that I have yet to see the best of Agent Virginia."

She stared at me, unmoving, before finally nodding. She slowly placed her helmet back on her head, her features once more hidden behind the bronze visor.

"I understand, Director."

With that, I dismissed her, watching her as she left the room, wondering if she truly did.

_We can but hope_, I decided, then turned back to my work. _There was still so much to do after all._

"I think I'm starting to like her."

I sigh, raising my hand to my forehead in exasperation. "You like everyone F.I.L.S.S. You were _programmed_ to like everyone. What use would I have for an AI that continually insulted the personnel on this ship?"

The AI was silent for a moment, no doubt affronted by the tone in my voice. Why I created an AI with issues about manners, I cannot begin to remember or even suspect. I no doubt had good intentions at the time…

"The Counselor is here to see you, sir," she murmured, her voice still containing a slight edge of disapproval to it, not yet willing to consign my rudeness to the past.

"Send him in F.I.L.S.S." I sigh wearily after giving her these orders. _What does he want now?" _I wondered grimly, taking a brief moment to compose myself before he came in. It was only a minute or two before he strolled in, a serious look on his face.

"Director, I see you've moved the simulation program ahead of the pre-agreed schedule," he intoned, trembling slightly with what I assume must be anger, but his slight frame makes this look more comical than intimidating, and I had to undergo a brief struggle to prevent a smile forming on my face.

"Yes, Counselor. I feel that, after yesterday's training assignment, the agents are ready for something a little more…challenging."

The Counselor was shaking his head before I had even finished speaking. "Any and all schedule changes are to be discussed with me first! You can't just authorise this sort of thing without running it by me first!"

Now I let myself smile, genuinely enjoying the moment. "Actually Counselor, you'll find that I can."

He paused, his moment of anger forgotten as he stared at me, unable to understand what I had meant. "I…I'm sorry Director, I don't follow. I was assigned to this project by the UNSC exactly for moments like this! The agents are not ready for a field test, and in my opinion some of them never will be!"

My smile only grew wider and I shook my head in mock-sympathy. "My dear Counselor, your opinion is not required in this instance. I knew that you would be…hesitant over this decision, so I went above you."

I paused for a moment, allowing the meaning of my words to sink in. When I saw understanding finally dawn in his eyes, I leaned forward and continued with my speech. "The UNSC responsible for liaising with this project, and in particular, Chairman D'Atombe, agreed with my suggestions that we advance the training schedule for our agents. The results of yesterday's exercise have convinced them to see things my way. So yes, the simulation program _is _being moved ahead of schedule. I have no doubt that our agents are up for it."

The Counselor just stared at me, disbelief evident in his features. His mouth took on a grim twist and he finally spat out: "Well I'm afraid I don't share your beliefs, Director. These agents are _not_ ready for anything as gruelling as the planned simulation program. There is too much that could go wrong in such an exercise, and the agents still haven't had time to familiarise themselves with their armour or their team-mates. If you send them out like this, the way they are now, someone is going to die. And I won't let that be on my head."

"Counselor, do you really believe that I would be so _reckless _as to endanger the lives of my agents? We won't reach the planet that the UNSC have assigned to us for training purposes for another week at earliest. The agents still have time to train and get to know one another. To move forward, certain risks _must _be taken. I believe in my agents and their capacity to outdo _your_ expectations, Counselor. I have the UNSC's backing in this. So are you going to help me in this, or hinder me?"

The Counselor looked down at his data-pad, sighing heavily, and raised his free hand in order to massage his temple. "Very well then, Director, but I still believe that we're moving too fast."

I lean back in my chair, taking off my glasses and rubbing my eyes wearily. "I understand," I put my glasses back on, slowly stood up, and turned to look out through the observation deck, staring out into the black abyss of space. "We are moving faster than I would like, Counselor, whether you believe it or not. The simple fact remains: we are at war. I'm not talking about the Insurrection against our society, but a fight with an alien race for the very survival of our species. We have to push them, because there is no alternative. We simply do not have the time to play it safe."

He nodded, a look of understanding on his face. He sighed again, shrugging weakly. "I am sorry, Director. It is not my place to question your decisions. You are right, of course. I was not seeing the bigger picture."

He turned and left, and I continued to stare out into space. "F.I.L.S.S.," I murmur quietly. "Prepare a new journal entry, would you?"

"Of course, Director," there is a brief pause. "Recording now."

I nod in thanks and begin, letting out the emotions that I've been struggling with all day.

"This is Director Leonard Church of Project Freelancer. Progress has gone well today, and I believe I have solved several of the problems that had been plaguing me up until now. Today I have been reminded, all too much, of the fact that no matter how we prepare, we _never_ have enough time…"

* * *

A week later, I was standing in the same spot, but this time, instead of staring out at empty space, my eyes were locked on the planet before us. It resembled Earth in so many ways, its oceans a vivid blue, the land ranging from the darkest of browns to the white of ice-caps. The only way it differed was that the continents were all out of shape, like someone had torn them apart, reshaping them to suit their own will.

Its name was Eris, discovered forty years ago but was ruled out for colonisation due to its relative isolation. But that precise trait made it perfect for a military testing ground, and the UNSC had been testing out weapons and organising simulation missions for years. It seemed somewhat fitting that Project Freelancer would be able to do the same.

"Director, the team has assembled," the Counselor intoned next to me, his face serious, data-pad by his side.

I turned to him, nodding in acknowledgement. "Very well, then."

We slowly walked over to the assembled agents, all huddled around the metallic table that dominated the centre of the room, glowing a deep blue. I waved a hand towards the Counselor, who quickly flicked through his data-pad, and suddenly the table began to hum, projecting an image of a boxed canyon, one side opening to accommodate a seemingly endless supply of water, with two circular structures at either end, with a huge spire protruding from the heart of these bases.

"Agents, welcome to outposts 17-A and B, codenamed Valhalla. Here, you'll partake in your first simulation mission. You will be split up into two teams. Team A will consist of Agents Carolina, Wyoming, Pennsylvania and Alaska. Team B will be made up of York, Massachusetts, Virginia and Florida. Carolina and York will lead their respective teams."

Around me, I notice the various agents nod to each other, each team mentally sizing up the other. I could see the confident aura that surrounded Team A. No doubt they saw themselves as favourites here. _Unsurprising, really_. The three agents at the bottom of the leaderboard were all on Team B. Still, I wouldn't rule out either team.

I cleared my throat and continued my speech. "The objective is simple, capture the flag. Team A will have to capture the flag from the Blue base, Team B will have to take the Red's."

Each base lit up as I mentioned them, shining white against the blue background. "I'm sure you're all familiar with the goals of this sort of exercise. First team to capture their designated flag, wins. It's that simple."

Virginia suddenly spoke up, surprising me slightly. "How many tangos are we looking at, sir?"

I smiled, having expected this question. "I'm not going to say. For all extents and purposes, other than this map, you'll be going in blind. You won't know the enemies numbers, their whereabouts, their weaponry or their capabilities. This is first contact, agents. It's time to step up to the level that you all assumed when you took on the title Freelancer."

Wyoming then coughed lightly from the back of the group, his visor staring straight at me. "How about our weapons, sir? Will we be using paint guns again?"

"No, Agent Wyoming. Not this time. Your guns will be fitted with blanks and infra-red sights. When you score a direct hit, the simulation troopers' armour will go into Armour-Lock, effectively rendering them immobile."

"Will they carry similarly adapted weapons?" Carolina this time, focusing on the most crucial aspect of this mission. _How very like her._

Ismiled this time, shaking my head slowly. "No, Carolina, their weapons will contain live ammunition. The simulation is designed to protect them, not you. If any of you get hit from a simulation trooper, quite frankly you don't deserve to take part in this project."

I raised my head, staring directly at the assembled soldiers. "The training ends now, agents. There is no more room for error. No more second chances. If you make a mistake now, you're going to pay for it. Having said that, do you have any more questions?"

I stared at them for a moment, but none of them moved, a heavy silence having settled over all assembled, no doubt reflecting on the meaning of what I had just said.

"Very well then. Team A will escorted by pilot Four Seven Niner, Team B by pilot 343-R. You have three hours before take-off. I advise you to prepare yourself mentally for this mission. Show me that you have earned your place here. Prove to me that you truly are the best of the best. Dismissed."

The agents filed out, but I called York and Carolina back before they could leave. They stood to attention before me, exuding confidence, and I couldn't help the slight smile that formed on my face. "Agents, you know the mission, you know your team. I cannot prepare you any more for this. Make sure that you control your teams, and complete this objective as quickly as you can. Other than that, I can only wish you luck. May the best team win!"

They nodded to me and I dismissed them for a final time, watching them banter with each other as they left the room. The Counselor walked over to me, a worried expression on his face.

"I still don't think they're ready," he murmured, not meeting my eyes.

I sighed heavily, resting my hand on his shoulder. "Not this same old argument again, Counselor, please. They're as ready as they ever will be. They will complete the objective, and we will be one step further on this road that we are travelling."

He looked up at me, unable to keep the reproaching look off his face. "I just can't help but feel that some agents, Pennsylvania and Alaska in particular, are just not ready for a team-based assignment. They have strongly resisted all attempts to assimilate into the group, and, given their service records, that's not surprising."

"Both agents have done well in training, Counselor. I have confidence that Agent Carolina will be able to restrain them, should the time come."

"I hope you're right, Director. For all our sakes."

I sigh. "I hope so too."

We stood there for a moment, staring at the leaderboard that had been placed next to the holographic table. I turned to the Counselor, my face grave once more. "I need you to do something for me, Counselor."

"Of course, Director. What is it?"

I turned away, staring back out at Eris, frowning as I stared at its familiar, and yet alien, surface. "I need you to go down onto the planet and visit the Command Facility in the planet's northern hemisphere. We have several armourers there, working on suits based on those we…received from ONI. The sim troopers that our agents are going to surprise have already been outfitted, but I need you to do a thorough report on progress in that facility. For obvious reasons, I don't want to have to use the more typical means of communication in order to contact those involved."

He stared at me for a moment, clearly reluctant to accept this assignment. Eventually, he gave in, sighing as he did so. "Very well then Director, I will do this. On one condition: the agents are not to be sent out on another Simulation Mission until I return."

I could see the determination in his eyes, the grim line his mouth was set in. "We have an agreement, Counselor. We will await your return before organising another mission. You have my word."

He nodded to me, and turned away, contacting the pilots and informing them of their new assignment. I turned back to the leaderboard, its blue surface reflected of my glasses. "And so we begin the next step," I murmur, running a hand through my hair.

"We will see if these soldiers are up to the task. We will see if they fail and fall, or succeed and rise. We will see if they truly are _Freelancers._"


	12. Chapter 11: Gear Up

**(A/N) Right all, here we are for another Saturday and another update! This particular chapter is written Avalanche Wolf, and we get to see a little bit more from the oh-so twisted Agent Alaska. He's decided to do something a little different this time, and I hope you'll all love it as much as I did! Gear up for something that'll change your perspective on this man, and maybe change Project Freelancer itself.**

* * *

**Chapter Eleven – Gear Up**

**Agent Alaska**

**Written by Avalanche Wolf**

* * *

_"Sometimes it isn't easy to be sane, smart, and responsible. Sometimes it sucks. Sucks wang. Camel wang. But that doesn't turn wrong into right or stupid into smart."_ - Harry Dresden

* * *

_The young officer sat next to the wall. He had black hair that was in a typical officer cut. Long, yet professional. His blue eyes looked down at the DMR on his lap. Today, he was getting his cherry popped. His first mission out to find insurrectionists. He tried to keep his thoughts under control. Wouldn't look right to throw up in front of troops. Yeah, defiantly not a good idea._

_He managed to get himself under control as a marine walked up to him. "Sir, are you alright?" The officer looked up at the marine and nodded. "Y..yes. I'm fine. Just...a little nervous. I mostly work behind a desk, or in an enclosed room." The marine chuckled a bit. "Eh, you'll be fine sir. Just stay close."_

_Another officer walked in and ordered the men to form up. Once everyone was in formation, he began his brief. "Alright, ladies. Our mission is to find us some Innies. We have reason to believe they are hiding out in a small village on the planet below. We're going to drop in, find them, and take them out. We have someone from ONI to handle tracking and interrogation. Now then, let's get going. Load up!"_

_The officer looked down at his DMR and walked down the hall. A marine ran up to him and slapped him on the back. "Don't worry sir. We're prepared if the bullets start to fly."_

* * *

"I'll be prepared if the bullets start to fly." Alaska picked up the DMR and looked over it. The weapon was more familiar to him than anything else in the room. Alaska preferred to take out targets from a distance and then do his work up close and personal. The DMR was very precise. Once everything is adjusted, he could shoot the wings off a fly at 900 yards.

Alaska was grabbing his ammo when a cocky voice spoke up. "Quite the bit of ammo for a training mission." Wyoming. Alaska never cared for the guy. Something just didn't sit right with him. Alaska was strapping another holder onto his leg. "I believe a wise man once said, though the worst may come and the world end, you can always win with more ammo." Alaska took the DMR and placed it on his back, knowing exactly what angle it sat for a quick grab.

He looked around at his team's equipment. Wyoming seemed to appreciate the sniper rifle. Powerful though it may be, limited shots could be fired. Hence why Alaska preferred the DMR. Stopping power with enough bullets to get the job done. Carolina decided to use a pair of magnums. An up close and personal type fighter. Alaska would have thought she was insane, but with the moves he's seen, it seemed appropriate...for an overachieving attention grabber. Pennsylvania was equipping an assault rifle with some grenades, a DMR already slung on his back. Alaska couldn't help but think of him as a child. With a magnifying glass. Over an ant hill. On a clear day. With a bottle of water to drown the survivors. Too much?

Maybe a little.

* * *

_There went his lunch. The young officer left the remnants of his chow on the ground as he turned back to where the marines gathered around. He could hear them arguing among themselves. "Man, we are screwed. Really, really screwed."_

_"Will you just shut up?! We have a mission to complete."_

_"Mission? As far as I'm concerned, this mission just became fifty different kinds of screwed up. We just lost our CO, and we don't have any way to track." One marine looked over at the ONI officer. "Sir, you have to take command. You lead us to the Innie base, and we'll take it from there."_

_The officer was stunned. "I...I...I don't know if I can. I mean...I've never lead a unit before. I'm an intelligence officer. I work on paperwork."_

_"Well right now, you're a commander. So start commanding. Where to?" The ONI officer sighed and looked around. "This way. There is an insurrectionist base not far from here." The marine nodded. "Alright, you heard the man, let's get moving."_

* * *

Alaska walked to the end of the room. Their flight was supposed to be leaving soon, and he wanted to be on it. As he walked by Florida, he nudged his shoulder. Alaska cocked his head to the right and spoke hard. "Watch it." Something in Florida's voice told Alaska that Florida snapped. "What is your problem with me? I'm just trying to be nice." Alaska turned and walked up to Florida, towering over him. "That's right. Nice. That is the problem." He jabbed Florida with his finger. "Your too nice. Too happy. Too energetic. To you, this is all just some game for you to play. Well for me, it's a nice meal ticket out. You're small, and not as tough as you think you are. If you been what I have been through, you wouldn't last the first half hour. So I give some free advice to you, little Florida. Stay out of my way, or you might get some metal put through your skull."

Alaska was very much aware that people were starring. He could feel it in the room. With that, he turned and walked out. As he walked down the corridors, she appeared next to him, as she always did. "Did you have to be so mean to him? I think you were a little hard on him." Alaska sighed. "You're not picking sides now, are you Moi?"

"You know I'm on nobody's side. Not his, yours, or anyone's."

"I will handle him how I see fit. Besides Moi, I think that it might make him a little tougher. Sometimes, you have to apply a little pressure to ensure something hardens." Moi moved in front of him and placed her slender hand on his chest, causing him to stop. "Too much, and that same thing you're trying to harden will shatter." Alaska looked down at her. "Philosophical as always." Another voice spoke. "Sir, you are you talking to?"

Alaska turned and looked at a pair of crewman who were staring at him. When Alaska turned back, Moi was gone. That made him upset. He grabbed one of the crew and lifted him up. "Next time, I crush your spine into powder." He lightly tossed the man back and continued down to the hanger. As always, Alaska was the last to arrive. He got into the Pelican as the engines roared and the rear door closed.

A woman's voice came over the speaker. "Ladies and gentleman, welcome aboard Pelican flight Four Seven Niner, I'll be pilot today. This is a non-smoking Pelican. In the event of a water crashing, worry about your damn selves, and I'll worry about me. For a land crashing, well...let's not worry about that shall we? Due to the shortness of the flight, there will be no inflight snacks or movies. And if you have a problem with that, take it up with my port exhaust. So for now, just sit down, shut up, and no puking in my bird."

Alaska sat down and leaned back as he felt the Pelican take off and fly to their mission. "Easy as pie."

* * *

_"We can't. It's not right." The rain had just begun to fall. The officer and marines were just outside the base and performing a recon of the area. The marine glared down and held his weapon. "We can. The Innies are going to pay for what they did."_

_"But they aren't insurrectionists. There are no one down there. I made a mistake. You can't attack. There's women, and children down there." Another marine spoke. "This guy is starting to sound like one of them. I'm going in." The officer stared at him. "Stand down. We are not doing anything until we have orders from command. It's the right thing to do." He turned his back and was about to make a call, but now...he couldn't remember. He was going to do something, something important, but now the base of his skull hurt. He fell to the ground, having no idea how he got there. He heard the marines talking like he couldn't hear. "You...I can't believe you did that."_

_"Waiting for orders? That's going to take too long. We go in guns blazing."_

_"This isn't right. We'll be court-martial. I think we should..." The marine never finished. There was a muffled pop and silence. "Anyone else wanna join him? Good. Let's burn this base." The next thing he heard in the distance was the screams of women among the gunfire. Was he right? Did he do the right thing? It didn't seem that way with his face in the mud and innocent people dying._


	13. Chapter 12: Bag of Tricks

**(A/N) Another Wednesday, another update, this one brought to you by anna1795, from the perspective of Agent Virginia, and, excitingly, the very first simulation mission that occurs for Project Freelancer. Who knows how it'll turn out? Only way to do so is to read on!**

**Once again reminding people to keep watching this fanfic for the latest news. While we're not yet taking applications, I'm going to reveal the first established character that we're going to be taking applications for (but not quite yet):**

**hddp:/rvb,wikia,com/wiki/File:Character_One,png**

**This link requires you to do some work, due to the ridiculousness of FF's no links policy. Turn all d's into t's, all commas into full stops and add a / after the :**

**Sorry about all that. :)**

**And with that teaser, enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter Twelve – Bag of Tricks**

**Agent Virginia **

**Written by anna1795**

* * *

"_Remember teamwork begins by building trust. And the only way to do that is to overcome our need for invulnerability."_– Patrick Lencioni

* * *

Virginia kept her footing and just rolled with the motion as the Pelican made a swift descent over the crystal blue water of Eris. White-capped peaks with lush forests rose up on the distant horizon as their pilot, 343-R, flew them on the most direct path towards the base. Florida and York lurched in their safety harnesses, still clutching their respective weapons. Beside Virginia, Massa rolled with the motions as well, though Virginia could only imagine that her roommate was slightly green under that helmet.

Virginia was very glad that she had Massa as her roommate, as opposed to Carolina. The other woman was friendly and motherly, and she respected Virginia's more reserved nature. They weren't the best of friends, but Virginia had never had one. They had their conversations in the privacy of their quarters every morning and night, but not in such a way that they revealed too much about themselves.

"When we touch down," York called over the roar of the Pelican's engines, "we're going to check in with the sim trooper's commander on site, tell him the plan, and prep for engagement. We'll keep Florida and Massa closer to the base."

"Any particular reason you want me on home turf, York?" Massa asked.

"According to the Director, you've got some of the best medical experience out of all of us. I need you towards the back just in case one of us gets hurt, and also if either Virginia or I is put out of commission by that live ammo. Florida, you will be in charge of helping keep the flag safe from Team A."

"No problem, boss," Florida waved a jaunty, casual salute at the team leader.

"Virginia, I need you as my backup for sneaking through the territory and getting to the flag," York explained, and Virginia looked into his visor. "I don't necessarily know what you're good at. I'm pretty sure you can help me get in and out of the other base in one piece, but what exactly can I expect out of you?"

Virginia couldn't help but smile a little under her helmet. Just the slightest curl of her lips. "I can do both long and short distance attacks," she motioned to the sniper rifle slung to her side. "And I'm pretty good with setting traps."

"Works for me," York nodded. "I'll head into Team A's territory first and progress as far as I can. Virginia, you'll stay behind and trip them up a bit. When I give the word, you come in after me. I'm gonna need you to be some of the muscle."

Virginia nodded, taking a look at the ammo pack strapped to her side. She had put it together for when she was doing infiltration missions back when she was a marine, and it blended with her armour quite nicely. One side was a dark green cammo canvas, and the other was light tan. Her former squad-mates had affectionately called it her "bag of tricks."

"This may only be an exercise, but treat it like any sort of mission," York reminded them as 343-R called for a landing. "We have our objective, so let's get it done."

"Were you just channelling the Director, York?" Massa laughed, and Florida gave a hearty chuckle. York shook his head in mock exasperation.

"And…touchdown!" 343-R called back to them as the Pelican lit down on the ground with practiced ease. The gangway opened, and they rushed out without further encouragement from their pilot. Virginia had to blink behind her visor as she got accustomed to the sunlight from the darkness of the ship's interior. Gripping her ammo bag and her sniper rifle firmly, Virginia treading silently with the rest of the group to where another group of soldiers (in various garish shades of red armour) stood waiting in front of the base. York stepped forward and shook the hand of the leader (who wore the least offensive shade of brick red) and started explaining the situation as the Director had told him to: explaining that this was a war game and their objective was to help these soldiers defend the flag from the Blue army.

Virginia wasn't necessarily paying attention to the other soldiers until two of the smaller ones, who had both been conversing in hushed tones, gasped at the sight of her and collapsed in what seemed to be a dead faint. However, upon closer examination, they were actually…_bowing to her?!_ Virginia stepped back slightly as the brightly-coloured sim. Troopers began speaking absolute nonsense. She could barely pick up muffled words from where their faces were pressed against the ground. "Holy Angel…clad in the colour most holy…graced with the blessing of the Flag…"

"Looks like you've got a pair of admirers," Florida joked as she backed up further away from the pair of strange men.

"Don't mind them, miss," the commander saluted as he spoke to her. "They just got transferred here from…I don't know where. Just a couple of odd ducks, but this means that they like you, I guess. Probably cause of the bits of red on you." Virginia wasn't necessarily as sure, but she held her tongue.

York, sensing Virginia's discomfort, pulled her aside. "I know we're supposed to work as a team here, but do you wanna go ahead and take off and set some traps?" Virginia heaved a sigh of relief and nodded. "Keep in touch. I don't think I'll have to send anyone after you though. Just one more thing-" Virginia turned back around from where she was going to take off. "Just…try not to snag Carolina."

Virginia could not believe it. There wasn't room for romance in war! What was her team captain thinking?!

"I'll try, but I make no promises," was all that she could say, and York gave her a nod of thanks before she took off running.

Virginia dashed low along the sides of the valley, closer to the shade where she knew that some of Team B would be sneaking along to try and get behind the Red base. She spotted a few bushes that would provide good cover, and took a spool of thin metallic wire from her trick bag. Grabbing a knife strapped to her thigh, she cut a sizeable length and began to set up a good trip wire system. Through one branch, along a cluster of leaves, behind this rock…

In less than forty-five seconds, Virginia stood up and inspected the nearly invisible wire, then dashed off to another spot to repeat a similar process. She kept ducking into shadows and inspecting for places to set traps, and her mind settled into a regular rhythm that she had almost forgotten in the hastiness of her induction into Project: Freelancer. Memories were coming back of the good old days, back when she and her slightly older sister had been younger and used to go play in the woods behind the town.

* * *

"_You take this snare here and cover it with some of this leaf litter…_"

"_I don't know…won't they get hurt by it? Won't it just strangle them to death?_"

"_If you set this trap right, it snaps the neck quick and clean._"

"_You think this might be your calling, sis? Setting traps to catch animals for food?_"

"_I can't say for sure,_" she remembered saying years ago. "_I just feel like it's something that I can do easily, and it'll help people._"

* * *

"**Come in, Virginia,**" York's voice crackled over the radio. Virginia finished covering up the loop with leaf litter, as she had learned to long ago, and brought her finger up to her radio.

"I read you loud and clear, York," Virginia whispered, dashing back to the cliff face and starting to scale the side for a better look while keeping to the shadows.

"**I'm getting into Blue territory right now with three of the Reds. I left five of them behind to defend the Flag with Florida and Massa.**"

Virginia crouched on the ledge and scanned the more open spaces in the direction of Blue base. "I've got you in sight." She saw something else, too. "Pennsylvania, five o'clock. He's got a Blue with him."

"**Copy that.**" York's voice cut off as he and the Reds raced towards the base, splitting into two groups and forming a pincer manoeuvre. Penn and his tag-along continued on their way towards the Red base.

Suddenly, there came a loud scream as one of the Reds in the other pincer group collapsed to the ground, his armour crackling with yellow energy as he entered armour- lock. His partner took off in a blind panic, crashing into a bush, and chaos ensued. Virginia could only shake her head as shots, both from the Freelancer's laser-operated weapons and the Sims' live ammo, went rocketing through the air in every direction.

"**We're taking fire!**" Massa's voice came over the radio waves. "**I've got Alaska, Pennsylvania, and about three Blues shooting at us.**"

"**I've lost my cover, too!**" York replied. "**And someone keeps sniping at me. Virginia, take care of that sniper if you can and get to me at Blue base. I'll order the rest of the Reds back to the base to protect the flag.**"

Virginia dodged a few stray bullets and ducked back into the shadows of the cliff side, looking for where York would be and the sniper aiming at him. Catching sight of where the shots might be coming from, she crept along the ridge and slid down a long slope back to the main valley floor, sneaking up behind the perpetrator. Grabbing a Magnum from her pack and slipping in a cartridge, she snuck up behind him and gave an honest to goodness grin under her helmet.

"Nice to see you, Wyoming," she said, and the white soldier whipped around, facing the barrel of her gun.

"Oh dear," the Brit gasped as Virginia fired -

"Damn it!" she cursed as the white Freelancer ducked out of the way and took off. She ran after him, noticing that they were heading towards Red base. Getting an idea, she started firing at the ground at Wyoming's feet, steering him in a certain direction. Seeing the bushes ahead of him, Wyoming took the opportunity and started running at an angle to get away -

"Nice try, Wyoming," Virginia released a rare expression of emotion at the Freelancer frozen on the ground at her feet, armour crackling with yellow energy from the lock-up. Turning from her 'kill', Virginia took off again towards Blue base. "York, I've taken care of the sniper."

"**Great,**" the team captain had a grin embedded in his voice. "**I could use some help here, though.**"

"On my way," she confirmed, but her attention had strayed from her surroundings, and she crashed into an object with a solid object and crashed to the ground. A weapon cocking above her signalled who she had just ran into.

"Nice try, Virginia," Alaska chuckled as he aimed his DMR at her. "But I guess you lose."

Two blurs of red crashed into the taller agent though, and knocked him off balance. "Defeat the Blue Demons, Holy One!" one of the Red weirdos from earlier called to Virginia as he attacked Alaska with his bare hands, while his partner kicked at Alaska's shins angrily. "Carry the Glorious Red Flag to splendid victory!"

Without another word, she took off again for the Blue base again and slid along the wall.

She couldn't see York anywhere. Bullets and lasers were flying everywhere in the heat of battle, and bullet holes riddled the wall that she slid along. "York, come in. York!" Virginia hissed into the radio. Had something happened when he went to get the flag?

"Can I help you, miss?" a voice sounded behind her. Virginia jumped and whirled around. York stood with his arms folded, holding a tall flag in his hands. The blue fabric with the flying bird on it hung lazily against the metal of the pole.

"Let's get you out of here," Virginia said, nodding, acknowledging that he had the flag.

They took off together, Virginia switching out for the sniper rifle and taking out and ready for any obstacles in their path. Everyone seemed so caught up in the heat of battle that no one saw York and Virginia running towards the border. The adrenaline was pumping through Virginia so fast that everything seemed to become a blur.

One of the Blues screamed as they came to the last stretch of open ground, and loosed a shot at them. Virginia brought her Magnum around on instinct and shot the Blue once. Twice. Three times. Each round struck him in the chest, and he crashed to the ground before his armour had even completely locked down. York called back to her for some reason, and she followed him the last few feet…almost there…

"Yes!" York crowed as they crossed the border line, jumping into the air with the flag in his hand. The one Red soldier still standing gave a few claps at their victory. "Mission accomplished!" York offered a hand upraised, and it took Virginia a moment to realize that he was asking for a high-five. Grinning slightly, she slapped her palm against his.

"Too little, too late," a female voice spoke up behind a rock on the other side, and they turned around. Carolina leaned against a boulder, her arms crossed around the flag pole of the cobra-emblazoned Red flag. "It's those last few seconds that count there."

The hairs on the back of Virginia's neck stood up like hackles on a cat, and she glared at Carolina as the aqua-armoured soldier sauntered forward, tossing the Red flag into the dust at their feet.

"You've got a little something on your shoulder, Virginia," Carolina nodded at her. "It helps if they don't hit you." Virginia looked down to her upper arm. Blood had spattered on her shoulder from the Blue's bullet, which had grazed a space in her armour and grazed the skin. Virginia stared down at the wound for a moment. Her brain failed to register any pain, only annoyance.

"Better make sure that you don't have the same thing, Carolina," Virginia replied smoothly, reaching down and picking up the Red flag. "You never know when someone just might shoot you in the back.

"Is that a _threat_, Agent Virginia?" Carolina growled, bringing herself way too close to Virginia, but she stood her ground.

"No, Carolina, just a warning. And hold onto that pedestal while you can," Virginia snarled in response, dragging the defeated Red flag in defeat along the ground and away from the victor. A few moments later, York jogged up to her and started walking in step.

"I'd be careful if I were you," York warned the fuming young woman. "You wouldn't want Carolina as your enemy."

"I'll keep that in mind the next time she starts talking down to me," Virginia replied angrily. Her wound had just started to throb. She took a deep inhale through her nose and an exhale through her mouth. Runaway emotions didn't help after the fact. "Agent Carolina won fair and square. Let's just get back to the base, check on Massa and Florida, and go home."

"You don't seem like you're too happy about the fact," York started to say, "but I don't want my head to get chewed off right now, so let's go with your idea."

"Thanks for not arguing," Virginia mumbled as her injured arm became more accustomed to the flag's weight behind her in the dust. "I wonder how everyone did."

"343-R, this is Agent York, radioing for pick-up," York called through the radio as the base came in sight. Massa stood out front, inspecting wounds on the Reds while waiting for Florida's armour to unlock.

"**Copy that, Agent York**," the calm voice of their pilot responded, then paused and shifted to a more inquiring tone. "**Care to say how the mission went?**"

"It went fine, just not quite good enough," York replied in a guarded tone. "Why?"

Virginia zoned out, reflecting on the truth of his words. Not quite good enough indeed.


	14. Chapter 13: Something to Watch

**(A/N) Hey guys! It's time for the...Saturdayish update. :P This one is a little bit insane and a little bit scary, and I'll admit that when I finished it I was properly stunned. Another chapter from Agent Pennsylvania, or Penn, by his writer, the extraordinarily talented Jerem6401. Really, this chapter is on a different level entirely to our other ones. You'll know what I mean when you read it.**

**Bit more of an update on our next batch of applications. I'll be leaving a link at the end of the Author's Note, which will once again bring you to an image of a new canon Freelancer who we'll be taking applications for. The next two chapters will also contain these links, and after that I'll be announcing the re-opening of our acceptance of applications. **

**So not too long away! We'll still be taking applications for OC's too, so if you have any ideas for characters then hold out just a little bit longer!**

**Link: hddpp:/rvb,wikia,com/wiki/File:Character_Two,png**

**Once again, change commas to full stops, ds to ts and add another / after the :**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter Thirteen - Something to Watch**

**Agent Pennsylvania**

**Written by Jerem6401**

* * *

"_I was never afraid of failure, for I would sooner fail than not be among the best." _– John Keats

* * *

The pelican's descent could be felt by everyone on-board as our guts dropped. I looked towards the solitary window at the back to see the blue sky give way to the crashing waves of an ocean. The entire ride to the battlefield had been filled with nothing but tension. No one spoke a single word, and I didn't dare look towards Alaska, and I assume he had a similar feeling. I wasn't going to let anyone outshine me in this training exercise. The mission was simple. Infiltrate the enemy base, and grab their flag. Capture the flag. Now the Director was literally having us play games with each other.

It wasn't as if we hadn't already shown him who the better team were. Yet here we are again, back in "Valhalla", having less than a day to recuperate after the last simulation mission. Back for a "rematch", the same teams taking part in a slightly different simulation. Not that it would change the outcome. The only thing that annoyed me was that nothing on that goddamn scoreboard had changed.

"Back door opening in 10 seconds!" our female pilot called. I looked towards the back of the pelican as I heard the rushing sound of it unsealing. It began to open and the light poured in.

"Let's go team!" Carolina ordered. Wyoming stood up and jumped behind her, his sniper rifle tucked securely in his hands. I looked up and got to my feet, which was exactly mirrored by Alaska's actions, who sat directly across from me. We stood for a moment, staring at one another as Carolina and Wyoming stepped off the pelican.

"I'll be watching," he said quietly.

"I'll give you something to watch," I replied. Alaska turned away, keeping his eyes on mine, before severing the contact and stepping off of the ship. I slowly followed, feeling the metal grating below me transform into dirt and sand. We were standing at a massive stone structure used as a base for a simulation blue team. Our job was to make our way across the valley in front of us, code-named "Valhalla" and capture the flag inside the other base. Several red simulation troopers were stationed at this base to defend it. We had been warned a countless number of times that they were using live ammunition, while our guns were just made to lock up their armour. I listened to the rules and played them over and over again in my head like a record… and nowhere in those guidelines did the Director say we weren't allowed to use lethal force.

"Penn, fall in!" Carolina called. I looked towards the others to see them standing in a tight group. Carolina was leaning on one knee, drawing into the dirt. Wyoming was scouting the area through his scope, and Alaska simply had his arms folded.

I walked closer as Carolina began making different lines towards a circle she had drawn, most likely to represent the enemy base."Here's the plan. Wyoming, you're going to set up on the rock overlooking the river, it should be high enough to give you a clear view to the enemy base."

"The hill in the centre of the valley will cut off my line of sight," he responded. "I won't be able to cover you until you are within reach of the flag."

"That's why on my order you are to move up to the centre hill," she replied. "I'm going right up the middle to clear a path for you. Understood?"

"Righto," he replied. She turned and pointed at Alaska, who seemed to have not moved an inch since we got off the pelican.

"Alaska, you're going to move up the right side," she ordered. "There's a large field there and I'm not sure what they could be hiding in it. Wyoming will relay you if he sees anything. Other than that, stick close to the river and hit the base from the right."

Alaska nodded and looked towards the river running by, which almost seemed to connect the two bases. Carolina finally looked at me. She was quiet for a moment and stood up to look me in the eye, even though she was much shorter than me. Carolina was really tense around me after my test on the training floor. I guess the sight of all the blood was a bit unnerving for her.

"Penn," she started, "you're going up the left side behind Wyoming's point. You're going to make your way through the caves. There's a point on the other side where we can meet up before you continue through the next cave and eventually reach the base. Then your job is to cover Alaska. He'll have the most cover after that point, so he's going in to grab the flag."

I looked towards Alaska. Was Carolina serious? She thought I was going to let him grab the flag? Not a chance in Hell.

"Penn? Are you listening?"

"Heard you loud and clear," I replied eventually. I looked away from Alaska and then towards the caves. Wyoming had already perched himself on the cliff and was scanning left and right. He looked towards us and made the OK symbol with his hands. It was time to move out. Alaska and I met eyes one more time, before turning and running our separate ways. I ran past Wyoming, stopping for a moment to check in.

"Everything look clear?" I asked him. He nodded and then looked towards the cave I was entering.

"Not sure about in there," he replied. "Could be a surprise waiting for you."

I pulled out my DMR and turned to the entrance. "Or I could be a surprise for them."

Wyoming chuckled a few times and looked back through his sniper rifle. "I almost feel sorry for them, Pennsylvania."

I walked towards the cave and looked into the darkness. I didn't turn on my light. Didn't want to give away my position. I began walking it, trying to keep a quick pace to stay ahead of Alaska. The cave was short and felt more like a tunnel than a cave.

**"Tango down!"** Carolina called over the radio. I cringed a bit, thinking that would score her more points than me. **"Got another!"** she yelled again. I hurried my pace, heading for the exit, but still there was nothing in the cave. Nothing to gain me any points. Nothing to kill!

**"Got one!"** Alaska called. I ground my teeth together. This wasn't fair! I had no enemies in front of me. I ran out of the cave and into the field. I saw Carolina in the middle, and Alaska making his way up the river. Behind Carolina were two simulation troopers. Their armour was completely locked and they were simply sprawled out on the ground, waiting to be taken away for their next session. Carolina looked at me and pointed towards the base, ordering me to move up.

She didn't have to tell me twice. I ran towards the next cave, fire burning inside of me. I was getting angry, angrier than I normally was. When I got to this cave, my own words were buzzing around in my head.

"I'll give you something to watch." I stepped into the cave and looked down at my DMR. I rotated it in my hands a few times, taking in its details, before dropping it to the ground.

It was just weighing me down.

As I continued into the cave, I could hear them, footsteps getting closer to me. A scout for the simulation troopers checking out the caves. He was just around the corner from me, his light casting onto the wall and moving up and down rhythmically with his footsteps. I knelt down and closed my eyes. I was still getting angrier and angrier. The thought of Alaska even thinking for a second he was better than me. This simulation trooper was going to be just another thing proving that wasn't true. I could feel him getting closer… I could smell the blood already.

"What the?!" he called out as he rounded the corner. I opened my eyes and leapt forward, smashing his weapon away from him. It flew around wildly, shining its light in all directions as it tumbled through the air. In the strobe of that light I raised my knee and jammed it into his stomach. Then I threw two punches, one into his chest, breaking one of the lights built into his armour. The second slammed into his helmet, smashing his visor into a spider-web of broken glass. I reached out and grabbed his throat. I lifted him off the ground with one arm and pressed his neck into the rock wall. I kept pushing and tightening my grip, still feeling myself getting furious. He grabbed my arm, desperately try to rip it away. The man was trying to scream… I could feel it, but nothing but a rasped whisper was escaping.

**"Penn!"** Carolina called. **"Penn where are you? Report! We're about to send Alaska in to the base."** I bore my teeth at the thought of him. My sight blurred in anger as the simulation trooper in front of me flashed between his true form and a vision of Alaska, covered in his own blood. I finally pushed with all my might, feeling the trooper's throat collapse. The inside of his visor suddenly exploded with a massive stain of deep crimson. His body fell limp, and as I released my grip, collapsed in a heap in front of me. I took some deep breaths, looking down at my handiwork. This wasn't my kill… it was the Director's. He didn't see me as the weapon I am. He didn't realize what making this scoreboard had done to me.

Now he would have to see.

I put my hand up to my helmet and spoke into the radio.

"Target terminated," I said quietly. There was a silence before Carolina's voice broke out.

**"Terminated?"** she asked. **"You mean taken down? Right, Penn?"**

**"Sounds good to me,"** Alaska replied. **"I'm about to head in.**"

"Like hell you are!" I yelled back.

**"Penn, no!"** Carolina screamed. **"This is Alaska's mission, not yours. They have defences set up and you don't have the cover that he does!" **

I didn't care. I needed this. I needed to show I was better. I ran for the exit of the cave and exploded into the light. The base was in front of me, with four enemies standing on top. One had a sniper rifle trained on me, while two others manned turrets that were turning to face me.

I froze for a moment when I saw the opposition, until the loud crack of a sniper rifle shot filled the air. I saw one of the soldiers on the turret freeze up as Wyoming took his first shot. Carolina began to light up the base as well, taking out another soldier armed with a DMR. The simulation sniper stayed focused and lined up his shot. I dove to one side as his first shot slammed into the ground next to me. He fired again, but I managed to roll to the left just before the trigger was pulled.

**"Wyoming get that sniper!"** Carolina yelled. I turned to see if he was responding… which was a mistake. I slowed down for a single moment, and the sniper took his opportunity. He fired and hit me square in the chest, on the right side. I felt my armour explode in the front and the back as the bullet sailed clean through me. Another shot cracked through the air which tore through my right shoulder. I dropped forward, falling to my hands and knees in the river in front of me. Blood was tricking down my armour and creating bright patterns as it swirled downstream.

**"Penn is hit!"** Carolina yelled.** "Repeat Penn is down! Alaska, complete the mission. I'm calling an evac!"** I fought the pain and lifted my hand to my helmet. The sniper was still reloading and it was like time was slowing down.

"Carolina," I growled, "if you do that to me… we'll be needing a new number one on that scoreboard!" There was a silence on the radio, and no one dared to make a call. Then her voice spoke back to me.

**"Fine, Penn,"** she replied. **"This isn't because you intimidate me, because you don't. This is so maybe you'll learn some respect for authority."** I snickered a few times and looked up at the base. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Alaska making his way towards the base. I looked up, seeing the second turret getting in position to finish the job on me. **"Wyoming! Hit that turret!"**

"No!" I yelled. "He's mine!" I got to one knee and dug my back foot into the ground. I used all my anger, my fury, my pain, and drove myself into the air. I was above the man on the turret and came crashing down on top of him.

I put my hand around his visor as I slammed to the floor on top of the base. I smashed his head into the concrete and then quickly got to my feet. I ripped my arm sideways and threw the soldier clear over the edge of the base. He careened through the air and into a tree, shattering the trunk and sending splinters of wood in all directions.

I looked towards the sniper, who was the only remaining soldier at this point. He fiddled with his magazine as he tried to reload his weapon. I saw he was defenceless at this point and then looked down at the bullet wound in my chest. I looked back up at him and I could almost taste the fear. Believe me… I loved it.

"Wait… wait!" he yelled. I charged towards him and he lifted his rifle as a last defence. He crossed it in front of him like a shield. I threw a punch into the rifle, and I could feel my hand break through the barrel and all the inner workings of the weapon as my fist exploded through it. My punch hit him in the chest, sending him flying back into the concrete wall of the base. The two separate pieces of his rifle dropped to the floor next to him. I didn't hear them hit.

I couldn't hear anything.

The fury was filling me.

I hated everything. Everyone on my team, every one of these simulations troopers… that fucking scoreboard! I didn't realize I was walking closer to this soldier as he pressed himself further and further into the wall behind him while he looked for escape routes. He looked to my left and then made a run for it. As he passed I grabbed his helmet and pulled him back. I dropped to one knee and draped his back over my extended leg. I had one hand on his helmet and another on his hip as he bent backwards over my knee.

**"Penn!"** Carolina yelled. **"That's enough! You can grab the flag! Just let the simulation trooper go! Lock up his armour, he'll be dealt with!"** I heard her over the radio… but it was like she was right next to me. I looked up and saw her standing on the hill outside the base, watching the entire situation. **"Director! Stop him! He's going to kill that sim trooper!"**

There was a silence in the air, and absolute stillness. I could feel the anticipation in Wyoming as he watching, the complete terror of the man draped over my leg… best of all… I could feel Alaska watching me. I don't know if it was the Director's voices responding… or a little voice in the back of my own mind that spoke to me right then. All I know is that in a deep dark tone it said…

"Do it."

I pressed down with all my might, hearing the man cry a bloodcurdling, gurgled scream as I folded his spine in half. I could feel each vertebrae shattering as I made the soldier's own feet pass by his head. I rolled him off my knee and dropped the now silent and still body to the floor. I stood back up and looked down the body. The pain of my wounds was starting to grow, and I couldn't tell if I liked it or not. I turned around and reached out my arm, firmly grasping the red flag in my hand. I ripped it out of its stand and held it into the air as it waved proudly in the wind.

**"Mission successful,"** the Director spoke in our radios. **"Team B, you may proceed back to the Mother of Invention."**

That it was, the anger was starting to lift. I had done it… proved I wasn't just a solider… I was a force. I didn't care how… but all of these so-called "freelancers" would know what terror is… what it looks like… what it feels like! The blood loss started to kick in, and everything around me split into twos and fours. Suddenly my vision blurred to black and I couldn't hear anything at all. I collapsed onto the ground. Falling into a pool of blood left by that simulation trooper.

Looking back on it… I guarantee that I was smiling.


	15. Chapter 14: The Price of Failure

**(A/N) Ok guys, sorry this chapter is going up a little late. Here we get to see the fallout from the previous chapter, which I'm delighted to see has shocked our readers in the way that I hoped it would. This chapter is from the POV of Agent Carolina, from the mysterious ParabolaOfMystery. (How do I come up with this stuff?)**

**Here's our third link! Only one more to go and then we'll be accepting submissions. So from Saturday 16****th**** of March onwards we'll be accepting applications for the next batch of Freelancers.**

**hddp:/images,wikia,com/rvb/images/e/e3/Character_Three,jpg**

**As before, change ds to ts, change commas to full stops and add a / after the :**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter Fourteen – The Price of Failure**

**Agent Carolina**

**Written by ParabolaOfMystery**

* * *

"_It's fine to celebrate success but it is more important to heed the lessons of failure." _– Bill Gates

* * *

They were all ready when the pelican landed. The hatch opened with a hiss of air, and as soon as the ramp hit the ground Carolina, Wyoming, and Alaska carried the limp Penn onto the ship. Alaska was especially silent; Carolina knew that if he had his way, he would've left Penn where he went down. She felt the same way. All she kept thinking of was the simulation trooper folding in half like some sort of bad horror flick.

"Jesus," 479er said as they carried him past her. "What happened to him?"

"Best you don't know," Carolina muttered.

The pilot clicked her tongue. "Well, just strap him in like normal. There's nowhere else to put him. They haven't given us any medical equipment yet. Probably because they didn't think we'd need it." Carolina didn't blame them. Why would the Director think that any of his Freelancers would get themselves shot on the first mission? It should've been so easy. Capture the flag. He honestly gave them the simplest task he could… yet still they managed to screw it up.

They were all silent during the flight. Wyoming had taken off his helmet and was leaning in his seat, twirling his moustache. Alaska was sitting straight up, staring at Penn, whose arms swayed limply in his seat. He seemed to mumbling to himself, but that was normal for Alaska. Carolina knew that what Penn did had to do something with Alaska. The two of them had been avoiding each other like the plague. She thought back to the scoreboard, and remembered that Alaska had been placed one slot above Penn.

_Oh god. What is happening to us?_It was just like the Director to push people against each other, to watch them climb over each other to the top. She knew firsthand- it was how she got here. Somehow she'd thought that it would be different here, with people working _together_ to accomplish something. No. It was all part of some plan the Director had.

It was like natural selection, almost. The best would climb to the top and survive. The weak would fall to the bottom and- die? Get thrown out of the project? She didn't know, and she didn't want to know. All she knew was that she was already at the top, and she had to stay there. She buried her face in her hands. What would happen when they were all consumed by the mentality that they had to be the best or die? They would be a team built of enemies. It would get worse and worse every time there was a new scoreboard.

479er's voice crackled in her ear. "Get your butts ready, guys. We're there. I already called a med team, so help get your buddy off my ship. I don't want any bloodstains. I just cleaned the floors."

As soon as they landed, the three Freelancers jumped out of their seats- Alaska quite reluctantly- to get Penn. Alaska undid the belt fastenings while Carolina and Wyoming each grabbed an arm and wrapped it around their shoulders. Penn grumbled something but Carolina couldn't make out what it was, although she could have sworn he'd mentioned Alaska.

The other Pelican landed as the med team wheeled Penn away. Carolina groaned. The other team had won, obviously. She wondered how many snide comments Virginia or Massa would make at her defeat. York jogged out of the Pelican, helmet under his arm and grinning wide, followed by Florida, who seemed more cheerful as usual. Carolina relaxed a bit. At least there would be two people who wouldn't be snarky or just plain miserable about the mission.

York's smile vanished when he spotted her. "What happened to you? Are you hurt?"

"What?" She looked down, and realized she was covered in Penn's blood. It stood out shockingly red against her light blue armour. "Oh, it's not mine. Penn's."

He spotted the stretcher being wheeled away. His eyes narrowed and he frowned. "Poor guy. I have to say, it was only a matter of time. Big guy's a little too violent."

Carolina scoffed bitterly. "A little?"

"Why, what happened?"

"You don't want to know."

York pouted. "Come on, I want juicy details!"

She grimaced and started toward the facility. "Bad adjective. Really bad adjective."

* * *

"As you have been expecting, the scoreboard has been updated based on the last two missions." The Counselor's cool monotone voice echoed slightly around the room. None of the Freelancers paid much attention to him; everyone was staring at the blank scoreboard, waiting for their names to show up. Carolina could hear her pulse in her ears. She knew that she wasn't going to like it. She couldn't lead a failed mission without getting punishment for it, especially one where a teammate almost got killed.

York stood next to her, trying to look relaxed, but Carolina noticed his fingers were fidgeting. Alaska was muttering to himself again, Florida was bouncing on his toes, and Virginia was tapping her foot. Everyone seemed as anxious as she was.

The screen lit up. There was a collective intake of air as everyone searched for their names.

**1. York**

**2. Carolina**

**3. Massachusetts**

**4. Wyoming**

**5. Virginia**

**6. Florida**

**7. Alaska**

**8. Pennsylvania**

Heat rushed to Carolina's face. She felt Massachusetts staring at her smugly. Second. She deserved it. She failed a mission. It could have been worse. Now she just had to climb her way back up… over York. She glanced at him. He stared silently at the board, eyebrows furrowed. It seemed like he wasn't sure whether to celebrate or be worried. _Celebrate while you can_, Carolina thought. She felt empty. She wasn't sure why. She'd expected to be angry, or miserable, but she found she was determined instead. She would beat all of them next time.

Meanwhile, Alaska was fuming. "How am I seventh? I did what I was supposed to. I did my job!"

"But we lost," Carolina said. "Badly. It was bound to bring all of us down."

His cold eyes turned to her. "Really? It didn't bring you down that much."

She felt her temper rising. It was surprising it had stayed down this long. "Maybe I was that much higher up to begin with." Alaska didn't answer. She felt his eyes on her even when she turned away.

The others began to file out. Wyoming left, followed by Virginia, who had a smug smile on her face. Not surprising, considering she had gone up in rank. Carolina doubted that it was because of improvement. She'd only gone up because the others did much worse. Massa followed her, ramming into Carolina's shoulder as she went.

"Better watch your back," Massa snipped in her ear.

"In your dreams," Carolina whispered back. She heard York snigger next to her, and felt herself smile a little.

Florida cocked his head at the board. He didn't seem overly upset. "More room for improvement," he said cheerfully.

Then it was just her, York, and Alaska left. Alaska had gone back to staring at the board. Carolina felt kind of bad for him. He'd been dragged down from the mission worst out of everyone. It wasn't really his fault either, but Carolina could almost see why he'd been brought down. His anger was going to motivate him even more, make him more aggressive. As long as he didn't go down Penn's path, he could be one of the strongest Freelancers there.

York tapped her arm. "Sorry you're second," he said quietly.

Carolina shrugged him off. "It's fine." _He's competition. You should treat him like it._"I deserved it."

"Not really. It was Penn's fault. I'm sure if he didn't go all crazy, you guys would have had a good mission."

"Maybe. But I was leader. I should have done something to stop him."

"You tried," Alaska said bitterly from behind them. Carolina frowned. Why was he suddenly sticking up for her? Just a second ago he was against her. Then again, Alaska was a weird guy. "I heard you. That guy's just batshit-crazy."

York chuckled. "Very true." He took one last glance at the scoreboard and sighed. "Might as well enjoy the sight of my name up there while I still can." He smiled at Carolina. "Who knows? I might be kicked off next time by someone."

"I hope you mean me," Alaska muttered.


	16. Chapter 15: Healing Hands

**(A/N) Hey everyone! Here's a new update from everyone's favourite medic, Private Killian Jay! Three guesses as to whom he's patching up. Written, once again, by the incredible Casaric. I know you'll all love this one.**

**Once again, I'm announcing a new link, revealing all of the four new established Freelancers available for applications:**

**hddp:/rvb,wikia,com/wiki/User:NicKenny**

**As before, change the ds to ts, the commas to full stops, and add a / after the first :**

**Unfortunately, we have lost contact with Ausphin, who was our writer for Agent Wyoming, so we have been forced to recast the character, which means we are also taking applications for him.**

**Our forum is now open for new applications for those five characters, OC Freelancers, and Freelancer Personnel, which includes the Counselor and 479er. Please, read the thread entitled Rules! No posting in order to get the DL on what we want you to do. You may submit as many applications as you want, but we have decided that no new writer will be assigned more than one character, and no writer at any stage will be writing more than two.**

**We thank you for all your applications in advance, and promise to get in touch with you as soon as possible. Applications will close on Saturday the 30****th**** of March, and we will announce the accepted writers immediately after.**

**For those of you who just want this author's note to end so you can read this chapter, your wish is my command! Enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter Fifteen – Healing Hands**

**Killian Jay – Private First Class, Medic**

**Written by Casaric**

* * *

"_Any idiot can face a crisis- it's a day to day living that wears you out."_ – Anton Chekhov

* * *

The workplace of Killian Jay is...rather boring actually. The walls and floor are grey and undecorated. The equipment that lines the walls may have some flashy lights and buttons on it, but the noise they make is really irritating. And, for reasons beyond Killian's comprehension, the lights were _always _dimmed. Not the best place to catch up on your reading.

Then again, it's not like you'd be there to read in the first place. It is medical wing. People go to the medical wing because they're hurt. If you're Killian, people go the Medical wing because they're stupid. Because really, why would you stick that up your nose? Killian's never slapped a patient before, but he's come close...

It's not that Killian dislikes his job, he just dislikes people...well, the majority of people. This is because the majority of people are mentally retarded and stick scissors up their noses. Or their just assholes who give him triple-overtime because they want a day off. He's not very fond of those types of people either.

So, as Killian worked _alone_ on a patient, an Agent Pennsylvania who was barely stable, at six in the morning, in a cramped operating room lined with machinery that made annoying noises, his mood was less than exemplary. ...Hell, it down-right sucked.

"Jesus dude, the hell did you piss off? A god-damn bomb?" Killian said exasperatedly as his suit performed a scan of his patient's wounds, sending images to the monitor above the operating table. It showed a lot of shrapnel fragments, places where the bullets had struck bone, and others where they had just passed clean on through. "...Fuck, it might as well been a bomb with the amount of shrapnel you have lodged in there..." Killian muttered, scanning the images for a brief moment, before turning back to his patient, glancing at the man's heart monitor. It was stable, but it would undoubtedly start to spas out once Killian started to root around in his chest.

"Well, time to get to work..." Killian sighed, shaking his head as he activated his med-suit's medical functions, working to keep the Pennsylvania's heart-rate stable as he undid the bandages around his torso.

It was grisly sight. The guys down in the ER had done an on-the-spot patch job using some heavy-duty biofoam, but had left all of the shrapnel and bullets inside. Internal bleeding had caused the freelancer's chest to swell up a good couple inches, and turn a disgusting purple colour, accompanied by some ugly scars by the botched biofoam job.

It would make a lesser man want to hurl... Killian was the lesser man. Swallowing back the rising bile with a shudder that left a horrid taste in his mouth, Killian steeled himself for what was to come, a compact laser-cutter coming to life at the end of his pointer-finger.

One cut was all it took, and out came buckets of blood from the swollen chest. This is where Killian had to act, and act fast. He used his suit's augmentations to slow down the man's heart-rate just enough to stop him from pumping all of his blood out of the newly-made hole in his chest, while simultaneously manoeuvring a small hose into the incision and connecting the other end to a pump, letting the machine suck out all of the blood that had gathered in his patient's torso.

After a few seconds, he removed the hose and pulled out a Verzes shot, shaking it up to make sure the chemicals were well blended before injecting it into the freelancer via arm, helping to staunch the bleeding.

"Why do I get all the hard jobs?" Killian asked himself with a sigh, grabbing a pair of capillaries off of his tool tray, before turning back to face the freelancer. He opened up the incision he made earlier, easing in the capillaries, as his med-suit sent him a live-feed of the capillaries progress through Pennsylvania's chest cavity, removing shrapnel and the occasional bullet as it went.

Half an hour later and the last piece of shrapnel had finally been removed, landing with a clatter on a tray with over forty blood-covered pieces like it.

"...I fucking hate you..." Killian told his patient flatly, falling back into his surgeon's chair with a heavy thud. It had been half an hour since he started rooting around in the freelancer's chest with the capillaries, and Killian's give-a-shit levels had hit zero around three am. It was now seven-thirty.

"You know, I could be asleep right now. Having a really awesome dream with flying whales and laser-shooting dinosaurs. But you had to be an asshole and go and get yourself shot, didn't ya?" Killian said, glaring up at the ceiling.

A minute or so passed, and Killian sighed, forcing himself out of the surgeon's chair. "Whatever, we're almost done anyway..."

Killian walked back to Pennsylvania, activating another one of his suit's augmentations, watching as a high-grade biofoam enveloped his patient's chest cavity, healing the man's muscle tissue, repairing the sinews and fibres of his damaged organs, and knitting the skin back together all in a matter of minutes.

"...God-damn, only took me, what, twelve hours? ...Fuck..." Killian sighed, falling back down into his chair again. He stayed like that for another couple of minutes, basking in another job-well done. "I better be getting paid triple-overtime for this shit..." he muttered, standing up, stretching his sore muscles, and making his way out of the operating room.

As he walked out of the small, cramped, and now, to an extent, blood-covered room, he was met with the sight of one of the medical wings many nurses waiting for him in the hallway leading to the lobby.

"Killian Jay?" The man asked.

_"Yeah?"_ He really was too tired for this shit.

"You have visitor waiting for you in the lobby." The nurse replied, leaning up against the wall.

"Name?"

"Massachusetts."

"Ah. So he-"

"She."

"...Right. So _she _must be one of those Freelancer's then."

"Yep."

"...Okay. Thanks Tod." Killian said sleepily, waving back at the nurse, whose name was apparently Tod, as he walked down the hall to the lobby. "...Ah...good ol' Tod."

The lobby was a bit of sight. It was as if they had a lot of leftover space when they were done building the medical wing and decided to start moving chairs in there to make it look less empty. Because, really, that's all it is. A big room with a lot of chairs. The room also sports an Agent Massachusetts, complete with cappuccino maker and cup-holder.

The agent was sitting in one of the chairs that littered the room, armour forgone in favour of black track pants and a dark green "Freelancer" T-shirt, clothes more suitable for waiting for who-knows-how-long, just to hear: _"Sorry, yeah...he's dead...have a tissue."_

Killian took a second glance at her shirt, his face quizzical beneath his visor._ 'Wait a second...they sell those here?'_

He shook away the thought. _'Come-on Killian, at least retain some of your sanity...It's not that late,' _and replaced it with another.

"...Agent Massachusetts?" Killian called out across the grey chair-filled room.

She turned her head to meet his visor, but didn't say anything. She had bags underneath her bloodshot eyes, and her eye lids dropped dangerously low.

"...Your friend's gonna make it. Give him a couple of days and he'll be back up to ass kicking status. There were some close calls, sure, but he's fine now," Killian stopped to yawn. "Cause I'm the best medic ever." "

Massachusetts nodded sleepily in reply. "...Can I-"

"See him?" Killian cut her off.

She nodded in reply.

"...No. Not tonight. He still needs time for his wounds to heal properly."

"Right..." she replied, looking a little dejected.

"Tomorrow...probably...Now do yourself a favour and go get some sleep." Killian said as he directed her out of the waiting room, and into the hallway beyond.

Killian had finally made it back to his room, and to his nice soft bed that promised him wonderful dreams and, more importantly, no cramped operating rooms. Or, it would've, if Killian hadn't have glanced at his alarm clock. It was 9:45 A.M. The workday started in fifteen minutes.

"...I fucking _hate_ overtime."


	17. Chapter16: Front-Row Seats

**(A/N) Hey guys, would like to apologise about this update being a day late. Was really sick last night (totally my own fault, drink is the devil) so this is coming a little later than it was supposed to. Our Saturday update will go up on time as usual, so no worries there.**

**This chapter has something a little new in it, as the first have has been written by another of our admins, the brilliant LanaLlama, for Four Seven Niner, the snarky and loveable pilot. The second half is another little snippet from the Director's point of view, and we get to see a bit more of the aftermath of the last mission.**

**Our forum can be found at:**

** forum/The-Freelancer-Collaboration/125781/**

**Under RvB forums with the title: The Freelancer Collaboration.**

**We're taking applications for Wyoming, North, South, Maine and Georgia, so get your asses over there if you want to be a part of this collaboration! We're also taking applications for OC Freelancers, but we will only be accepting applications for a short period of time, as we will be announcing those accepted on Saturday the 30****th**** of March, nine days from now.**

**Enjoy! **

* * *

**Chapter Sixteen - Front-Row Seats**

**Pilot Four Seven Niner**

**Written by LanaLlama**

* * *

"_Flying might not be all plain sailing, but the fun of it is worth the price." –_ Amelia Earhart

* * *

"Aw, come on! How did you beat me!?" A bark of laughter followed this statement as one pilot joined the other.

"I'm just amazing," Niner teased, bearing a smirk. A tray clattered to the table in the empty space opposite her, apple bouncing across the table. Flicking it back over, Niner shook her head and added. "Nah, we had wounded, I needed to get back ASAP," she followed this up with a roll of the eyes.

"Already!?" asked a voice two seats away, disbelief evident, "Aren't these guys supposed to be the best or something?"

The cacophony of voices that took up the mess hall went on, ignoring their conversation in favour of their own, presumably, being more interesting. A lot of it was likely bitching about this or that; the number of hours spent patrolling, the frequency of breaks, whatever it was that had irked many of the Mother of Invention's staff that day.

A scoff from the female pilot was the initial response, "They sure didn't act like it. The morons couldn't even grab a flag from sim troopers."

"How bad was the injury?" 343-R queried, stabbing at his measly meal.

"Eh, few bullets, it didn't seem bad to me." Her eyes snapped into a glare as she looked up and caught other eyes on her own food.

"No way! You snooze you lose." In a rather gloating manner Niner bit into her slice of pizza, stretching the cheese out tantalisingly in front of 343-R. Subconsciously her free hand brought the plate with the other slices closer so that she could protect them. The male pilot attempted something of a pout towards the other.

"There was nothing there but this dumb, lemon chicken though." If he didn't want to hold onto some dignity the guy would have whined over at her.

"Should have been as awesome as me then."

343-R could only roll his eyes in response and moodily stab at his less likable food. Spearing a piece onto his fork he looked up to Niner again and queried "So, which agent was it?"

He tugged the chicken from the fork with his teeth and watched Niner whilst chewing. The male pilot seemed rather interested by the whole situation.

"Uhh," she swallowed her food and glanced up and down the table to note that there were others paying attention to their conversation now. "Pennsylvania, I think."

Her eyes moved upwards as she checked her memory. "Yeah. Pennsylvania."

A man a few seats away from Niner leaned in towards the group and propped his elbows on the table, "If you ask me –"

"Which no one did."

"If you ask me, the whole lot of them are mad, nuts, insane, completely bonkers," the man continued on, completely ignoring the random voice that had interjected. He swept a hand through his lengthy brown hair and positioned himself to be in view of the whole table.

"Give it a rest Kyle," one man groaned, weakly throwing a napkin at the other.

"Seriously, have you heard about what they're going to be doing?" he continued regardless, after pinching the dry paper and pulling a face at it.

343-R laughed, deciding to humour the guy that looked between them all with wide eyes. "What're they going to do?" he asked in a borderline patronising tone.

"Isn't working for this Director guy madness itself?" a blonde female next to the brunette crew member asked, flicking a crumb off of her white lab coat. Niner sent a glance over to her fellow pilot, one asking just what their fellow staff members were taking today.

"Oh great," she muttered under her breath. "Beth thinks we're all mad." 343-R snorted in something of an agreement.

She wasn't interested in any more of this, Niner just wanted to be left in peace with her pizza and get back to her ship; the wonderful, beautiful ship that she got to pilot daily. To her, it looked like 343-R was in the same mind-set and so, begrudgingly, she picked up her final two slices of pizza and snatched at 343-R's wrist when he raised his hand to bid her farewell.

"I think we're done here," she commented, passing one slice to the male pilot as they made a beeline for the exit; after some protesting from 343-R. "Oh come on, there is no way you're going to be able to deal with that." 343-R shook his head and looked up at the slightly taller woman.

"What? We never have any stories to share down in the hangar; I wanted to hear something new for once," he said, in an attempt to defend the researchers that they had sat with moments ago, only to receive something of a glare from Niner.

"You're kidding, right?"

"Uh…" 343-R shrank away slightly, the glare he was receiving was slightly concerning, and all he could do to respond, for a moment, was nibble on the pizza she had handed him.

"We get to see it all. We get all the action without actually being in the action."

"Most of the time."

"Yeah, whatever. Do you realize how many fights we're going to see?"

She seemed rather excited by the whole prospect, and 343-R could only watch as Niner continued to explain why their job was better.

"It scares me to know that this is what excites you." And that was the end of their conversation for a brief moment. The two ended up walking companionably down the last hall, and just as the doors entered their view, Niner glanced towards 343 once more.

"Trust me," She took a bite into her slice, savouring the food's flavour. "Beth and her conspiracy theories are not lunch table conversations that you want to get into. I've had the pleasure of being dragged in before; took me almost an hour to get away."

They had begun to stroll through the quiet halls, footsteps and their echoing voices the only sounds for a moment. The journey back to the hangar was going to be a short one, but that was fine with Niner, she didn't have enough pizza to last a long journey anyway.

"Guess I owe you for saving me then?" 343-R gave her a small nudge, smirking over at his fellow pilot. "And for the pizza," he added as an afterthought; chewing on the crust.

"Damn right you do."

* * *

**The Director**

**Written by NicKenny**

* * *

"_Men are like steel. When they lose their temper, they lose their worth." _– Chuck Norris

* * *

I sat by my next, reviewing videos of the two simulation missions over and over, looking for both moments of ingenuity and of stupidity. On the first mission, I constantly re-watch Virginia taking out Wyoming, Alaska being tackled to the ground by two sim troopers, watch York hold the line with his small army of simulation troopers, holding out against Agents Pennsylvania and Alaska, eventually breaking free from the fire-fight and retrieving the Blue flag. At the same time, I follow Carolina sneaking past York's perimeter, slipping past Massachusetts' guard, eliminating Agent Florida and retrieving the Red flag, beating York and Virginia back to the centre of the battlefield.

And that was the less eventful of the two missions. Their second trip to Valhalla had proved to be far more…troublesome. Pennsylvania had been hit twice by a sniper after intentionally disobeying orders and going for the flag by himself, which had resulted in him being placed at the bottom of the leaderboard, something that he would not appreciate when he finally comes to.

At the moment though he was lucky to be alive. The medics had only managed to stabilise him a few hours ago. One of the bullets had punctured his lung, while another had severed an artery. He would be out of action for a while at least, which frustrated me greatly. No one should have been injured on those missions, and Pennsylvania would have been fine if he had just obeyed orders. Indeed, in giving up his position and brutally attacking the simulation troopers, Penn had given up several precious seconds in which the other team had managed to seize their own flag.

Agent Pennsylvania's inability to obey orders had cost his team the mission.

His decorum on the battlefield was also…concerning. I knew his record when I offered him a place in Project Freelancer, but I had hoped he would be able to keep his anger in check. It appears that my hopes were in vain. While I wasn't particularly concerned about the two dead simulation troopers, or the injuries that the others who had come across his path, his refusal to obey the orders of his team leader was…problematic.

I quickly reviewed my own notes on the other agents' performances. Carolina, as always, performed exceptionally, barring her failure to keep Penn in check. York had surprised me, demonstrating leadership qualities that I had not believed him to have. Massachusetts had performed solidly on both missions, and, other than letting Carolina slip past her to capture the flag, I couldn't find fault in her performance. Virginia had finally showed me something worth noticing, earning her the increase in rank, and I believe my little talk with her had encouraged her to finally start becoming the asset that I know she could be.

Florida had performed well, but was taken out by Carolina on his first mission, so his increase up the leaderboard was less impressive than his teammates'. Wyoming however, had dropped in place, losing a fire-fight to Virginia, then failing to take out the simulation sniper that had injured Pennsylvania. Alaska, too, had dropped, allowing sim troopers to surprise him during the first mission, then being prevented from taking the flag by Pennsylvania during the rematch. I could feel the anger emanating off of him when the rankings had appeared, but wasn't particularly concerned. Whatever Alaska's past history, he was always in control of his emotions, unlike our wounded agent, who let his emotions control his actions.

The doors behind me suddenly burst open, and the Counselor strode in, his face flushed in anger.

"The Counselor wishes to see you, Director." F.I.L.S.S. chimed in, too late.

"I can see that F.I.L.S.S." I replied, my eyes locked on the nearing form of the Counselor, who was waving his data-pad with a look on intent fury.

"Counselor, I was not informed of your arrival," I said, smiling warmly despite the glare that I received, making a mental note to find out exactly why I wasn't informed of his arrival. "I trust your findings on Eris were satisfactory?"

The Counselor waved my question away irritably with a brief hand motion. "My findings on Eris were more than satisfactory, but we both know that that's not what I'm here to discuss."

He was trembling, I noticed with a hint of amusement, barely able to restrain the anger that was no doubt coursing through him. His face, however, remained as impassive as always, and gave no indication as to what thoughts were currently coursing through his head.

"I am referring to Agent Pennsylvania's current condition," he said, his voice wavering slightly before suddenly taking on a harsher tone. "You assured me that nothing would go wrong during this simulation mission. I am worried as to what exactly you consider 'going wrong' Director."

I frowned. "I am afraid that I do not approve of your tone, Counselor. Agent Pennsylvania disobeyed a direct order on the battlefield and, as a result, was punished for his disobedience. Thankfully the medics have stabilised him and are confident that he will make a full recovery."

The Counselor snorted, dismissing my words with a snap of his wrist. "Be that as it may, we're still looking at two dead simulation troopers, and several others with serious injuries. Agent Pennsylvania is simply too uncontrollable, Director. He is a liability to this project, and I must insist on his immediate discharge."

"Agent Pennsylvania has regained consciousness, Director." F.I.L.S.S. murmured, interrupting our argument, stopping us in our tracks.

I glanced at the Counselor, shaking my head wearily. "Counselor, leave Penn to me. If I can't come up with conclusive evidence that he can assimilate into the Project, and continue to serve as a valuable asset, then you can see about discharging him."

He appeared to consider this for a moment, before reluctantly nodding, conceding to my demand. "Very well then, Director. But this evidence will have to be considerably more conclusive than the empty promises that you have made so far."

I stand up and brush past him. "Believe me, Counselor, he will listen to me. For him, being second-best is not an option. He will listen to reason."

* * *

Pennsylvania had been propped up on his bed by one of the medics when I walked into the room. He blinked a couple of times, clearly surprised to see me, but said nothing as I ordered the medics out of the room.

I sat on the chair adjacent to his bed and stared at him in silence for a few minutes, sensing his discomfort caused by my presence.

"What ever will we do with you, Agent Pennsylvania?" I murmured, noticing him flinch slightly at the sound of my voice.

"Sir?" he asked, hesitantly, calmly meeting my gaze.

I continue to sit there, just staring at him, carefully picking out my next words. "You need to control your rage, Penn. The way you are now, allowing your emotions to dictate the course of your actions, makes you more of a liability than an asset to Project Freelancer. And you know what happens to liabilities."

Penn's face hardened at this and he glanced up at me, anger in his eyes. "I completed the mission, sir," he spat out, hands clenching into fists.

I nod slowly, not taking my eyes away from his. "That is true, agent. But your actions cost your team precious seconds, in which Agent York seized the flag for his team, earning them the victory. Your actions cost your team the victory, and you're position in this project has suffered as a result."

He tensed, shaking slightly, and inclined his head, glumly accepting the truth to my words. "I understand, sir."

I leant forward and placed a reassuring hand on the wounded agent's shoulder. "A great man once said 'We shall listen, not lecture; learn, not threaten. We will enhance our safety by earning the respect of others and showing respect for them.'"

I paused, allowing my words to sink in. "I brought you into this project, Pennsylvania, because I saw potential in you. I saw the man you could become, if you could learn to control your emotions, rather than letting them control you. You could be a leader, Penn. But first, you need to learn how to obey orders. I need to know I can trust you, Penn."

I stood up slowly and walked to the door, stopping at the threshold and turning back to him. "I believe in you, agent. I'm the first and only person who ever will."

I left him lying there, his eyes wide and troubled, with three final words.

"Make me proud."


	18. Chapter 17: Unwanted Advice

**(A/N) Another Saturday, another update! Well ok, this update is a few hours late so, strictly speaking, it's not quite Saturday anymore, but you'll all forgive me for that, right? This chapter is brought to you by Ayane458 (I've run out of adjectives, but you know she's great), from the perspective of Agent Massachusetts, or Massa, as her friends call her.**

**Hope you've all seen the "Black" RWBY trailer unveiled at PAX East yesterday! Our very own Jerem6401 was down there, having a great time (I am incredibly jealous). Looking forward to the special podcast on April 1****st****! Expecting to see the Season 11 trailer!**

**Less than a week now until we stop taking applications guys, so if you want to be a part of this collaboration, please, go onto our forum and fill out an application immediately! Our forum has the same name as our penname, and can be found if you add /forum/The-Freelancer-Collaboration/125781/ to the end of the fanfiction URL.**

**We're still taking applicants for Maine, Wyoming, North, South, Georgia, the Counselor, and any OC Freelancers or Project Freelancer personnel. We'll be looking forward to your application.**

**Once again, enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter Seventeen – Unwanted Advice**

**Agent Massachusetts**

**Written by Ayane458**

* * *

"_Verily, a man without fear is either dead or happy to die."― _Wayne Gerard Trotman,'Veterans of the Psychic Wars'

* * *

Massa, being a medic and having had all possible routes to the recovery bay hammered into her skull, led the way through the halls with Florida and York close behind. Florida was, as usual, cheerful to the point of slight creepiness. Even though Massa _knew_ the guy was capable of kicking butt, she still found it hard to believe with his attitude.

York, on the other hand, was laid-back as usual, only a hint of nervousness there. _Understandable_, Massa thought. If there was one thing Penn had established about himself, it was that he did not take losing with grace. He probably wouldn't be too happy to see the winners around. If he was awake this time round, which he should be.

But surely he couldn't take a concerned visit to the Recovery Bay so harshly, right…?

Well, Massa could hope. She had no desire to make an enemy so early on, especially one who was supposed to be on her side. It was true that, in her old company, there had been some real… _characters_, and that was a part of the reason she was here. In such a small group, however, she wanted everyone to at least not hate each other. Of course, considering the growing hostility between Carolina and Virginia, the thinly veiled contempt that Penn held for them all, particularly Alaska, and the way all of these relationships were shaping up so fast… hope was really all she could do.

The lecture she planned on giving him probably wouldn't win her any points, either. Word had spread pretty quickly about what exactly had gone down during Team B's mission, mainly from Wyoming. While Massa didn't exactly _trust_ the man, most of what he'd said had been corroborated by Alaska. Who she at least trusted not to lie for no reason.

"Oh, by the way," York said suddenly, causing Massa to stumble and Florida to hum curiously, "I was thinking about having a sort of victory party later on. What do you two think?"

"I think it sounds great, York," Florida declared. "A real bonding experience."

York looked to Massa for a second opinion.

"I agree," she shrugged. There was, however, something on her mind. "How on earth –can I still say that here? –are you going to get supplies for a _party_?"

York frowned at this, but they arrived at the Recovery Bay's door before he could continue. Someone was already outside.

Carolina glared at the door as if it had personally offended her, deep in some mental debate about whether she should enter or not. Through the window, Massa could see Penn gazing away from them, towards a couple of medics. It was probably best to go in before he started demanding to be released…

"Hey, Carolina!" York called eagerly. Carolina wasn't as easily surprised as Massa, and just looked up at him with a vaguely affectionate look. As far as Massa could tell, this indicated that she was head over heels in love with the guy already. If her guess was right, the feeling was–

"I'm sorry about how your team went, but you were still amazing, so I guess it didn't really effect you much. I mean, I'm sure you'd have won if…"

-wholeheartedly reciprocated.

"So, we're all visiting Pennsylvania, huh?" Florida asked, interrupting York's awkward rambling.

"I suppose so," Carolina replied. "I figured I should, since I _was_ team leader. He got injured on my watch." Despite her words, Massa did feel a bit of suspicion towards her intentions. Did she really care her teammate got injured under her command? Or was she just upset this could look bad on her record?

Looking at Carolina's facial expression, Massa figured it was at least _mostly_ the former.

"We just wanted to wish him a get well soon!" Florida declared. Carolina nodded curtly, before opening the door and leading them in. Their presence had apparently taken away any apprehension on her part.

Penn's eyes snapped to them as soon as the door opened, and his scowl grew far more pronounced. He projected an air of hostility that could be felt throughout the room, making the nearby medics shift uncomfortably. Only Florida seemed unaffected, and Massa was willing to bet that was because he chose to ignore Penn's aggression rather than actually being ignorant of it.

Massa, electing to allow York, Florida and Carolina to handle Penn's initial response to their arrival, walked over to the medics, giving Penn a quick, unreturned smile as she walked by. The air of hostility felt as if it were turning to one of murder frenzy, but that might've just been her new proximity to the guy.

"Hey, guys," she greeted. She knew the two medics vaguely, having been introduced to them when the Counsellor was explaining what would be expected of her around the ship and on missions because of her medical training. Their names were Brown, a timid man of small stature, and Clarkson, a lovely blonde woman with a strong New Zealand accent.

"Good morning, Massa," Clarkson replied as cheerily as she could, while Brown murmured something to that effect. "Back again to see him?"

"Wondering how the patient is," Massa replied. While she was concerned about Penn, she sort of wanted to minimise her association with him around people who were so clearly uncomfortable with him around.

Brown noticeably paled at the words and Clarkson's smile became more strained. It seemed that Penn had made an impression.

"Well, his shoulder wound has been healed almost completely," Clarkson said, still trying to stay happy. The woman acted like scowling was a crime. "His chest wound is a little more serious, but he should be fine soon enough." Here, her smile faltered some more. "I don't want him out of here just yet because… well, he needs to relax a bit to ensure it heals well."

Meaning she didn't trust him not to run straight into the gym and destroy a few punching bags, whether those punching bags be inanimate or unfortunate passers-by.

Apparently Penn really had intimidated the medics. Being the biggest guy on the team, he wouldn't have to do much to achieve that effect. Sitting and staring silently would probably work well enough.

"I'll talk to him," Massa promised, leading Brown to heave a rather obvious sigh of relief.

"Thanks," Clarkson replied, grasping Brown's arm and leading him away towards the corner of the room and as far from Penn as was possible.

Massa raised an eyebrow at this before turning on her heel to join the others.

York seemed to be carrying an awkward conversation while Florida occasionally piped in, either ignorant of or ignoring the uncomfortable atmosphere. Carolina, for once, seemed to be leaving everything to York. Penn silently scowled at whoever was talking at that moment.

Massa arrived, smiling defiantly at Penn's scowl and addressing him directly.

"The docs say you can leave about now," Massa told him. No reaction to this news. "Put too much strain on your injuries and you'll be right back in here, though."

"Dude, that's great!" York yelled, apparently reacting for Penn. "We should so have a party for that!"

Massa and Florida shared a look while Carolina seemed a little lost. Penn seemed very indifferent, although Massa noted that his hands were slowly clenching into fists.

"Anyway," Massa continued in an attempt to distract Penn from York, "if you agree to stay out of training and missions for a few days, you can leave."

"…Fine," Penn muttered. At this point, Carolina was steadily edging towards the door with York closely following. Florida, seeming to think everyone was leaving or just wanting to take this opportunity to leave, followed after them with no attempts at stealth, earning him an exasperated glare from Carolina.

Massa took a closer look at Penn's injuries as the others walked away. He had been lucky. The shots had both missed anything too important.

"You should be more careful," Massa said, not entirely sure what response she was expecting.

Penn looked at her. He had been cheerier when he hadn't been injured. And not kicked down to the bottom of the board. Oh God, had he seen that?

"It was a fluke." His tone stated that any continued conversation wouldn't be welcome.

Against her better judgement, Massa pressed on. If Penn's MO was always going to be about proving that he was the best, he could end up being more of a danger to them all than an asset to anyone. She'd already seen the damage arrogant bastards could do. That wasn't going to be repeated on her watch.

"Nobody's going to be impressed with you bleeding dry in the middle of a mission because you're too damn stubborn to recognise your limits." His lip twitched downwards and she tried to figure how much she could get off without some serious backlash. "I'm here to patch people up. So are they," she nodded in the direction of Brown and Clarkson, neither of whom were happy to be drawn attention to. "But there's only so much we can do."

Massa was about to back off, when a hand gripped her arm with painful strength. Penn had stood with surprising speed. She looked up –not an easy task, with his height –and their eyes met.

Jesus. She'd pushed him too far, she could tell. Was he really going to hurt her, though? Surely he'd know there'd be consequences. Cold fear began to creep its way through her body as she realised that she sure as hell couldn't take him hand-to-hand. Her eyes flicked away, trying to subtly seek out any potential weapons… in that drawer were some scalpels. There were some syringes stashed there, and some pretty heavy sedatives within those cabinets. If she could get him down, she'd have time to grab a syringe and fill it with sedative… scalpel would buy her time…

His grip on her arm tightened, drawing a grimace of pain from her and forcing their eyes to meet again. He opened his mouth to speak.

York ran back into the room before he could get a word out.

"Hey, Massa, you aren't going to believe what just happened!" York huffed. The excitement in his eyes faded as he stared at the two of them. "What's going on?"

Penn shoved Massa's arm back at her, forcing her to stumble back a step. Massa looked at him fearfully. "Nothing," he growled, moving back to his bed and glaring at Massa.

She breathed deeply for a moment, before turning back to York, grinning wide enough to potentially damage her muscles and completely ignoring the fact that she had been planning the best way to pump Penn full of sedatives a moment ago. "You were saying?" she prompted York.

York, catching her drift, continued a bit more warily. "Alaska and Florida got into this _huge_ fight. They're going to have a match down in the training room. We're all going to watch, so…" he trailed off, giving his invitation while not entirely sure how far it extended. Massa immediately zeroed in on the participants.

"Florida and Alaska, huh?" Florida had always been cheery to the point of idiocy. But with this new information, maybe her theory about him obfuscating stupidity was right. As for Alaska… well, he was a bit of a wildcard, so who knew? Maybe this was normal for him.

"Yeah, I know," York nodded, his previous enthusiasm returning. "Want to go?"

"Yeah, let's!" Massa urged. She moved to leave with York, hesitating at the door.

She turned back to Penn. "Coming?"

Penn nodded once. It wasn't a particularly rude gesture, but something about him made Massa sure they weren't going to get along around here.

_His loss_, Massa decided. _You can't please 'em all._


	19. Chapter 18: Face Off

**(A/N) Hey RvB fans! Here's the latest update for this little collaboration, from the POV of everyone's favourite mystery blue guy, Agent Florida! As always, written by the fantastic OhSoDeadly, who really knocked this chapter out of the park, in my opinion. Just want to let you all know that we have passed out 3,000 views today, and will have a bit of a surprise for you guys on Monday, in celebration of RvB's ten year anniversary!**

**We're still looking for applications for Wyoming, Maine, North, South and Georgia (Wyoming in particular), but if anyone's interested they're to get their application in ASAP, as we will be deciding on the writers over this weekend and announcing it on Monday.**

**Now, enough of me yammering away to myself. It's time for our latest chapter. Hope you all enjoy it as much as I did! **

* * *

**Chapter Eighteen – Face Off**

**Agent Florida**

**Written by OhSoDeadly**

* * *

"_I punched it in the nose. Now we're friends."_– Harry Dresden, _Turn Coat_

* * *

Well now. If Florida had seen a more topsy-turvy day in his life then he was a muttonhead! He'd always been a big believer in starting the day off right, usually with useful little things that were the key to being right as rain. Such as getting up a little earlier than you planned, a little jog, a little coffee with his paper. All the way from being a young man working at the post office, to a family man trying to juggle a household full of rambunctious rugrats, that was his routine, and it suited him to a T, yessiree bob!

But facts were facts, and there were some facts here that were none too pleasant. And here they were, laid out like a chorus line full of naughty schoolchildren. For one, poor ol' Penn had wound up in the infirmary. For two, Carolina and York were having a bit of a tizzy for whatever reason, probably because of that Team A/Team B stuff that had happened on Eris. And for three...

He turned around from his spot outside Penn's ward, and gazed at the armour-clad figure standing outside the medbay doors, arguing with some technicians about something. He couldn't help but frown upon seeing him. Alaska was his roommate, and he hated judging people about as much as he hated cold spaghetti on toast, but by gum, he was a hard man to like! Arrogant, overconfident, and as of now, somebody who got one of his team lying hurt in a nasty ol' hospital bed. Not to mention that silly armour colour. Why gosh, it looked as if someone had gone and dunked the fella in a vat of ketchup! Not that he was going to say as much, though. Right beside judgin' folks before he got to know them properly was saying nasty things behind someone's back, oh yes.

Mind you, he'd been pretty forthright when it came to criticising Florida straight to his face. All because he thought the Project's ranking system didn't necessarily mean they had to become all nasty to each other. But he'd shrugged that off pretty easily. Grudges weren't worth a tinker's dam!

He didn't look to be getting in anytime soon, though, so he went back to staring through the glass window at Penn and Massachusetts, his eyes misting up slightly. The big fella probably wouldn't appreciate that sorta gesture-after all, he was a hard-as-nails man, and big as a house besides!-but right now, he wouldn't know about it. He'd been through the wringer, so what was a little kindness here or there? Though kindness was probably the last thing on Penn's mind when he started the day.

Sighing, he rapped the window gently with his knuckles, but Massachusetts and Penn were too deep in conversation to notice. "There there, old buddy," he murmured. "Have you up and about lickety-split. We've got some real good docs on this ship, bet your bottom dollar on that-"

"Are you a praying man, Florida?"

He looked up, and just managed to stop his face from pulling into a scowl. Alaska had clearly failed to get past the ornery technicians and was now standing a few feet away from Florida, a lazy smile on his face. _A lazy smile is never a good sign_, his pa had used to tell him, _'cause it's like that the man who's wearing it ain't much better._ All through life, he'd found that to be true. Except for Agent New York, who talked a good game (that little stunt with bribing the soldiers being a fine example) but was an otherwise nice young man.

Speaking of being nice, Alaska had gone and asked him a question, so he cleared his throat. "Beg your pardon, Al?"

Still that lousy smile. "I said, are you a praying man?"

That was a darn personal question, gosh! Back on Arcadia, religion was a touchy subject and nobody was keen to start a fight over it. But then again, he reminded himself, this was the wide, wide galaxy, and others had different ways to his. He'd have to remember that, most definitely. So he answered nonchalantly, "Not as much as I used to be. But sometimes every now and then. Why do you-"

"It just seems to me, "Alaska said smoothly, stepping closer and rudely cutting him off at the same time, "that if one was to compile a list of utterly useless activities to do in an infirmary, both praying and speaking to one who can't hear you would both be on it. Wouldn't you say?"

There was a lot to be said for patience, and even more for turning the other cheek, but a direct insult like that... "Our friend over there is well beat-up and could use every friend he has, Alaska, "he retorted, a shade of irritation in his voice. He couldn't help it. "Nothing wrong with a little kindness."

His lazy smile took a turn for the worse and became...what was the word? He tried to recall the word-a-day calendars his sister used to buy for him. _Condescending._"I'm sure, "Alaska purred. "Why not? Let's both share some words with our _friend_, as you say. If you wouldn't mind?" He motioned Florida to move away from the window. "Private matter, you understand."

This didn't feel good, but manners were manners, and who knew? Maybe Al actually had some kind words to give, against all odds. So he nodded and moved down the room a bit. There he waited, while Alaska walked right up to the window, hands clasped and started speaking. To his surprise, he didn't even try to keep his voice down. What followed didn't surprise him much at all, he was sorry to say.

"Can you hear me in there, Penn?" Alaska asked loudly, rapping on the window. Several technicians who were standing nearby shushed him and shot him angry looks. "Just wanted to congratulate you on your stellar performance in the simulation exercise. You didn't _quite _manage to get everyone killed, so _that's_ good news. Oh, you know what else? I happen to be higher on the leaderboard than you. Isn't that a shame! Ah well. Guess your best just wasn't-"

Florida wasn't sure what came over him, but all of a sudden he was striding forward and shoving Alaska hard in the chest. As any ruffian or layabout on Arcadia would've said, once upon a time, Butch Flowers had no time for nonsense and even less time for bragging! "Hey! Enough of your high and mighty show!" he shouted. Now the medbay personnel were _really_ticked off. One was headed in their direction, a stun wand in one hand. They had maybe twenty seconds before they were going to get tossed out.

Alaska's eyes were alight with a cruel satisfaction. "The man speaks for he who cannot! But let's not be farcical, Florida. Penn screwed up, and he paid the price for it. The board speaks for itself-"

OK. That was it. He'd had enough of this...yep, _bastard._ He couldn't believe he was using that sort of language, even just to himself, but desperate times called for desperate measures! Which explained his next move. _Time to take this Bragging Billy down a peg!_

He folded his arms. "That it sure does, Al. Look closer. Whose name is that above yours? By gum, it seems to be-"

Alaska's smile was long gone now, disappeared like a coyote over the horizon. "Listen to me, you old fart, "he hissed, "I could take you down in five seconds flat and not even break a sweat! So watch yourself when you-"

"Care to settle that on the training room floor?"

The red-armoured man gaped, but recovered quickly. "Why don't we do just that!"

"Dandy!" Florida shouted back at him.

The technician with the stun wand had reached them by now, and was brandishing it, but neither of the two agents gave a damn. They had bigger concerns now. Namely, each other.

The match hadn't been scheduled, but impromptu sessions were fairly easy to cook up. Within half an hour they were both down on the floor, choosing their weapons. A few of the other Freelancer agents had heard about the scrap on the grapevine and were watching from above, like Technicolour angels. Technicolour angels…hah! Was that a funny image or what?

Florida looked over the ordnance dispenser that had risen up from the floor, and hummed a little ditty. Just because this bigmouth had insulted him and belittled poor ol' Penn when he couldn't hear him say it or fight back for himself didn't mean he had to handling a bad case of the blues! No, as a matter of fact, he was looking forward to this. Project Freelancer was designed for folks who liked a bit of a scrap, and despite trying to be a nice person and all, Florida knew a bit of rough 'n' tumble was a good way to settle things.

Now then…what did they have? The usual selection of rifles and pistols and grenades, but what _he_was looking for was-ah yes! He rummaged in the lowest rack and pulled out a long metal tube. Yanking an assault rifle from another slot, he attached the tube to the bottom. Checking the rifle's display, he saw the wink of a green light. Alrighty! The underslung launcher was functional. Now to load it.

He plucked not one, not two, but _eight_grenades from the dispenser. Four of them he secured in his bandolier, and the other four he loaded into his rifle. Clack-clack! The sound of a locked and loaded rifle sure was sweet to his ears! All he needed now was a magnum and he was ready as spaghetti.

On the other side of the arena, Alaska had decided on a DMR, a pistol and a few grenades. Not that Florida was afraid of the lunatic, but he had shown some mighty impressive skills with that weapon combination in the paint exercise. Firing one-handed and hitting the target! How about that...Well, he'd just have to do his best! That was why he was here, right?

_Not quite,_a little voice in his mind said. A voice that often emerged when things were getting tense, or headed for stormy waters. He liked to think it wasn't his own voice, really. It was…too mean. Nasty, even. _We're here because Alaska is a no-good crazy man and needs to learn his place. He insulted Penn while he was lying injured in the infirmary. We'll make him pay for that. Make him pay for a lot of things._

Florida frowned intensely inside his helmet, so glad the others couldn't see it. That wasn't him. It wouldn't be again. The voice ebbed, and died away. Good. Time to get to work.

The dispensers sunk back into the floor, and the two agents faced each other. Alaska swaggered forward, just shy of the white line that demarcated where the weapon stations ended and the arena began. "Not too late to back out, Florida!" he called out. "You know that, don't you?"

Jumpin' Jehoshaphat, did this boy ever stop running his mouth? "'Fraid I can't do that, Al! We've got business to take care of, you and I. Can't call yourself a man if you leave now! You know _that,_don't you?" _Sarcasm ain't a pleasant way to make your point,_dad had once said, _but it's sure as heck effective._

Unlike earlier, when he'd gotten as angry as a hungry pig, Alaska just chuckled, a low sound that reminded him of those TV shows about serial killers he'd refused to let the girls watch. "Ohhh, Florida. If you were a steak, I'd be eating you with Dijon mustard." He patted his chestplate with a clang.

"Careful you don't choke on my lucky bone," Florida muttered. Before they could exchange any further banter, the screens around the room lit up with the trademark blue swirl of F.I.L.S.S.' avatar. Her cheerful voice filled the room, and he couldn't help but smile at that. She sounded just like his old schoolteacher, Mrs. Wilkins. Motherly but firm.

"_Good afternoon, Agents!"_she chirped. _"This training match will begin in a moment. Rules are as follows. Paint rounds only will be used. The first agent to score three hits on the other will win the match! In addition, there will be numerous pillars that will provide cover, but these will appear and disappear at random intervals. Remember, the first to score three hits-"_

"Enough!" Alaska suddenly roared at the screens, fists clenched and shoulder hunched. "Enough talk, F.I.L.S.S.! It's time I put this wizened relic back on the scrap-heap! Let's begin!" He stayed still, but boy was he agitated! Looking like a caged animal. Well, this rabid doggie needed a tranquiliser, and Florida was just the man to do it! Especially after snarling at poor F.I.L.S.S. like that.

Silently, eight pillars rose out of the ground. One stood on its own at each end, but between them the remaining six were arranged. From above, it would've looked like a big ol' division symbol. Speaking of above, Florida would've liked to have waved at the freelancers spectating, but it was time to be focused.

_"Begin!"_

He only caught a flash of Alaska darting around the pillar in front of him before he disappeared into the central arrangement. Rather than charge in, he snuck forward slowly, keeping his body on an oblique angle to the first pillar. Just as well, because a DMR burst missed his head by inches. He ducked right behind it this time instead, and considered his options.

Normally he would place a grenade on the pillar and create a useful li'l ace in the hole, but soon it would retract into the ground and his advantage would be lost. Right now, Alaska had him pinned down on one side of the battlefield, while he controlled his side AND the centre. He couldn't just wait, either-

The pillar started sinking, and he bit back a growl. He flung himself out from behind the pillar, saw the flash of a gun barrel and dropped to his knees immediately. The paint rounds went over his head, but he wasn't safe yet. He blind-fired a grenade into the centre and, before the paint and smoke splatter had time to clear, he was sprinting to find cover. Would Alaska be there?

He slammed his shoulders behind the next pillar, and resisted the urge to peek out and see what the heck was going on. Alaska was one mobile fella-he'd want to keep moving, to disorient him. As if he had been eavesdropping on his thought process, he heard the rasp of a boot not far away, and restrained that urge too. Slow and steady won the race!

Another slight noise, only this time ten steps in the other direction. Florida frowned as he heard that darn chuckle again, reverberating off the pillars. "Oh my, Florida, look at you. Trapped like a rat. That is…until the pillars change. Then you'll have nowhere to go."

Well now. That was a problem.

He heard the grinding noise starting up again, but held his ground. The pillar began to retract, but he held his ground. Florida tried not to think about how exposed he was becoming, and focused on the little plan he'd cooked up. _Find the sound, fields of fire in both directions, find a good firing angle, find next spot of cover-_

The pillar was now at chest height. Florida sucked in a breath, squeezed the trigger of his rifle-

-and jumped onto the pillar.

Alaska could have been forgiven for not expecting such a daring move on Florida's part, nor for the older Freelancer to go on the offensive in such an abrupt fashion. Behind the blood-coloured helmet, he cursed as the blue-clad agent suddenly sprayed his position beside one of the pillars with paint pellets. He tucked his arms by his side and began to roll back into cover, but a lucky round struck him on the foot, eliciting a grunt of pain as he toppled behind a pillar. Being the talented soldier he was, though, he quickly sat up and started returning fire.

Florida whooped with excitement when he saw the hit upon Al's boot, but was forced to find more cover. In the end, he decided upon what had been the other agent's starting position, which was thankfully still standing, and ducked behind that. What a super way to start!

_"One point to Agent Florida, "_FILSS chimed in.

Only two more and he would win! Yet, as he reloaded, he realised he was in a bit of a jam now. He wouldn't be able to pull that sort of trick off again; it was a gamble and a half from the very start and would be way too predictable. Plus getting shot in the foot always made a person quite tetchy. Al would be ready for payback.

A pistol shot rang out, and he stayed resolutely still. Another, only this time on the other side of the pillar. Probing his defences. No problemo. He'd stay put, for as long as he had cover. A well-placed grenade would cover his retreat to a new pillar. Just then, he heard a forced wheeze, like of someone lifting a heavy box. That sounded mighty ominous! He looked at his motion tracker. Nothing there.

Well, Al was sure as heck cooking something up, and he had to be ready. He could cook up a big kaboom if he wanted to. But that didn't solve the gosh-darned question of where-

"Ahem."

He looked up, straight into Alaska's faceplate. He could have sworn he saw a smile behind it, before the lunatic leaped at him.

Together, they crashed down to the floor. Florida was dimly aware that the pillar had started going down, but right now he didn't give a lick. He managed to pin one of Al's arms behind his back, but he saw the other hand reaching for the DMR on his back. Time to get this big oaf off him! Scrunching his knees up, he sprang them outwards, sending Alaska flying off him. Shaking his head, Florida prepared to fire his rifle, distance be darned.

But he was too slow. Alaska's rifle seemed to blur, coming off his back, folding into his hands, and firing. _Faster than a-_

A paint bullet caught him in the chest, sending him stumbling back. Son of a nutcracker, that stuff stung like a million bad-tempered bees! Ignoring it, he fired a grenade at Alaska, and growled when he elegantly side-stepped and the explosive went zinging downrange to explode harmlessly against the furthest pillar.

But he had plenty more than that. Another grenade shot out, and this time, Al had to make an ungainly scuttle for cover in order to avoid the pink blast that ballooned outward, and made the pillars look like big ol' strawberry ice-creams. He almost laughed at the sight, and then winced as his chest strained. The paint would slow him down, no doubt 'bout it.

Now wasn't the time to be taking a nap, though. The match was still on, and Al had pulled level, as F.I.L.S.S. was nice enough to point out suddenly. Getting back on his feet, he ducked low, and started to move, eyes scanning. Staying still wasn't a possibility anymore, by gum it wasn't! He decided to get in close, like Al had just done. Unorthodox, but it would work. Unorthodox…hey, maybe that was the answer!

As he mulled this idea over (it seemed crazy), he heard his teammate's (_not right now he isn't_) mocking voice yet again, seemingly from all over. "You know, there's an old saying, Florida. You can't teach an old dog new tricks. And by the looks of things, you are the old dog! Muscles getting tired? A little short of breath? I wouldn't be surprised! Ha ha ha ha-"

He was still laughing when Florida came out from behind the pillar and charged straight towards him. He bit back a torrent of swear-words and pulled back the charging lever on his DMR. Florida might have been a great deal slower than him, and their styles manifestly different, but the old man was thinking on his feet. Not that it would make a difference in the end, but it was making him look bad-in front of his colleagues, and in front of Moi.

The pair of them were inside the central pillar formation, and it was at this time they chose to go ballistic. Not only did they raise and lower spasmodically, but the pillar bases themselves roved around, making the ground as treacherous as a pit of quicksand. Florida had to stop and dodge to one side as a pillar shot up beside him. Alaska chuckled with delight as he saw his opponent's slowed momentum and opened fire.

He ran low, a pair of rising pillars just covering his head. Pink (although by this point, they looked more lightish red) splatters flew over him like comets, and he mantled over one lowering pillar, rolled, skidded to a halt, pivoted and fired. The grenade nearly caught Alaska right in the faceplate, but he ducked just in time. Florida prepared to fire another-

Click. Click. He was out, and had no time to reload. "Damn it!" he muttered, stowing his guilt at cursing away for later. Alaska was already on the run, strafing him yet again. Now when was HE going to run out of ammo? His rifle seemed bottomless. Not only that, but he was jumping all over the place, like a big ol' monkey. He jumped up on one pillar, leaped off that, and kicked himself off another, all the while firing. Like a red shadow!

Florida tried to stay positive, but at this point, he was going to lose easily. Simply returning fire wouldn't help at all. He needed his grenades, and he needed 'em lickety-split! Desperately, he cast eyes about, looking for a semi-defensible position in the midst of all this, and spotted a pillar only just rising up, and slowly too. He sprinted towards, it, already plucking a grenade from his bandolier, badly placed shots landing all around him.

At this point, adrenaline pumpin' away, time seemed to slow down to a snail's crawl. He flung himself to the ground, locked the grenade into his rifle, and flung himself again, all the while avoiding shots. Hearing a familiar clicking sound, he realised that Al was reloading. About time too! The man was fumbling with a clip from his belt as he prepared to spring from a pillar, onto another. _I don't think so, buster!_

Rising up, he raised the rifle, fired the grenade-

-and bit back another swear as the grenade fell short of its target. More paint splattered the pillar Alaska was standing on, but none of it touched him. However, he did yelp and fall in a mighty undignified way to the floor. There was a chance if there ever was one! He ran forward, flicking the setting on his rifle back to full auto-

Suddenly he was staring dumbfounded at his empty hands. Alaska, once again, had acted with ridiculous speed and blasted the rifle out of his hands! What a Low-handed Larry he was! But at least it hadn't counted as a point.

_"Point to Agent Alaska!"_

"Oh darn." His pistol was still holstered.

Alaska depolarised his visor and smirked maliciously. "You gave it a good effort, old man. But time for you to give up." He raised his DMR-

-and cried out in shock as a pillar rose from right underneath him, carrying him into the air. Florida didn't hesitate, and drew his pistol fast as he could. _Blam!_Right in the kisser!

"Point to Agent Florida! The next agent to score wins!"

Now THIS was a contest, by gum! Despite all the hard luck he'd had since this match started, and the paint making him feel like a man who'd woken up on the wrong side of the bed, he felt that thrill of the fight rush through him. _If this ain't living, gosh knows what is!_He wished the girls were here to see this…

An enraged roar, and he saw Alaska stalk out from behind a pillar, visor coated in that pink mess. His sight would be obscured as all heck. "Come here!" he bellowed, gripping his rifle like a baseball bat he wanted to swing. "I'll kill you, you little fuck!" And he charged, firing as he ran.

"Holy cow!" Florida had no chance to fire back, not with a piddly little pistol like this. The DMR had far better range, and he'd had his fill of the other fella out-shooting him. So he fell back on that oldest strategy: running away. _If you run away and get the job done later,_dad had opined, _it's not a bad deal._

Pink splatters hunted him through the pillars, which had begun to slow down and return to the original spasmodic movements. Florida slid behind one, but knew it wouldn't work forever. The other man was angrier than a dog with a beesting, and too good at aiming. Soon he'd land a lucky shot and the match would be over.

He reflexively checked his bandolier, still assessing his next move. Three left. Time to go loud!

He caught a flash of red flitting between cover, and lobbed the first, then the second, then and the third. They all went off, one after the other, and covered the arena in the splatter. The smoke began to clear, and he hoped against hope that just one of them had landed a hit on the other agent.

But F.I.L.S.S. stayed quiet, and he heard footsteps quickly. Glancing down at the pistol in his hands, he checked the clip, and shook his head in disgust. A simple exchange of gunfire was…well, it was too simple! He needed to shake things up in order to have a chance. Something, anything…

His eyes fell upon the object, and he grinned behind his blue ODST-issue helmet. Perfecto!

Alaska had crouched down low against the pillar, ready to finish the fight. His smile was serene and confident. He knew he had a better weapon, and was a better aim, and was quicker. And that was just in the past thirty seconds. He was the better agent by far, and as he heard Florida's steps (clumsily trying to flee for another pillar), he knew now was the time to prove it. He was the better agent, and everyone would know it. He stepped out, saw the blue man, squeezed the trigger-

Without pausing, Florida ducked and flung something at him. As it caught him around the neck, Alaska realised with baffled rage it was his bandolier. He tore it off, refocused-

_Blam! Blam! Blam! Blam! Blam!_

As he unloaded the rest of his clip into Alaska, Florida looked up towards the scoreboard. And sure enough, that two became a three. He whooped with joy. Colour him purple and plant a flower on his head, he was the winner!

_"The winner is: Agent Florida!"_

The pillars began to retract, and the doors opened. The Freelancers who had watched spilled onto the floor, shouting congratulations and expressing their disbelief at the result. Florida removed his helmet, and thanked each one in turn with a big smile and a hug. What great pals they were! What a great day this had been!

And yet…he still felt slightly bad for poor ol' Al, struggling to pick himself up. Maybe it hadn't been all that necessary to fire all the bullets…

He strode over to the man and offered his hand. After a moment's consideration, the other man took it, and Florida pulled him upright. "Heck of a match, Al, "he beamed. "Great job!"

For a minute, Florida feared another one of his mood swings, or worse. But after a few seconds of silence, Alaska removed his own helmet and nodded grudgingly. "Not bad. For an old man."

Florida chuckled and slung an arm around his shoulder. "Watch it, young whippersnapper. I might not be a spring chicken, but I can still show you a thing or two." The pair hobbled out of the room, headed for the paint removal room.

Alaska snorted a laugh, grudgingly conceding his point. "Maybe you can, Florida. Maybe you can."


	20. Chapter 19: One (Crate) for the Team

**Greetings, all. Ayane458 here, filling in for our usual publisher Nickenny. My sincerest apologies if this is later than it should be -living on the other side of the world sort of leaves me unable to publish at the exact usual time, but I hope it's close enough. **

**...Anyway, happy Easter from down here and I hope you enjoy this lovely chapter, written by Maple from the always amusing Agent York's perspective.**

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**Chapter Nineteen – One (Crate) for the Team**

**Agent New York**

**Written by Maple Alycia Hood**

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"_Childhood is not from birth to a certain age, and at a certain age the child is grown, and puts away childish things. Childhood is the kingdom where nobody dies."_– Edna St. Vincent Millay

Things had long since become quiet, but the aftermath of both the mission and the fight between Alaska and Florida had yet to finish. Not everybody was in a good mood, York noted, as he passed various Freelancers in the hall on his way to the rec room, where his fellow winning teammates awaited. He made sure to give Penn some room as he headed in the opposite direction, helmet on so his expression wasn't visible to the outside world. No doubt he was still mad about losing, but it was also a good idea to not get on this guy's bad side.

The first time they'd seen him fight was still clear in the tan armoured Freelancer's mind.

Alaska was leaning against the door frame, staring at the floor and muttering to someone called 'Moi'. York had learned that it was best not to ask. Hey, a man's private business was his private business. He wasn't _that _inquisitive. Nevertheless, he did mutter a polite 'excuse me' as he passed the other man, squeezing his arms together in order to fit through the gap. Well, to fit himself, and the large crate of alcohol, through the gap.

_Thud._ The crate was lifted down onto the table, catching the attention of his comrades. Virginia, with her helmet discarded to the side, raised an eyebrow at the offerings that had been presented before them. "Beer?" she asked simply.

"What else for the winning team?" York answered with a smirk. There was a soft snort from his left, and he glanced to see a helmetless Carolina leaning up against the observation window that looked down on one of the many training decks. She raised her head to give him a dangerous look. Yep, she was still upset about losing. Losing the mission _and_ losing her Number One spot. Things weren't going too well for him anymore.

"You know that's against protocol, right?" she deadpanned, shaking her head. York opened his mouth to respond.

"How did you even get it onboard?" Massa piped up before he could speak, a soft _pop_ indicating that she'd used the nearby bottle opener to open one of the many bottles of booze. York turned back with his winning smirk to answer that remark instead.

"Sometimes it just takes a bit of knowing who works around here and getting onto their good side."

"In other words, he sweet talked some poor guy into getting it over here." 479er added with a soft chuckle as she snatched a bottle for herself, grabbing the bottle opener and popping off the cap. York gave an innocent look, both hands raised in a surrender position, before he looked towards the uncertain Florida nearby.

"C'mon, man," he tried, motioning with his head towards the crate. "Just one? I mean, you kicked ass without us even expecting it! You gotta give yourself some credit."

"Weeeell, I guess just _one_ wouldn't hurt-" Florida agreed slowly, his hand moving to grab one of the bottles, but he was promptly interrupted by a smack to the back from Wyoming. York had rarely seen the British man without his helmet; he sported a large black moustache and neat black hair. Stereotypically British, alright.

He wondered what the man would do if the pride and joy on his upper lip were to be accidentally shaved off in the middle of the night. With no evidence to trace, of course.

"Not bad with the training fight, chap," he congratulated, taking a bottle and swiping the bottle opener from 479er's open hand, which just seconds before had just been trying to put it back on the table. Needless to say, the pilot didn't look particularly impressed, shooting a glare at 343-R when he sniggered.

"Oh, thanks! I gave it my best, at least," the dark blue armored Freelancer answered cheerily. Wyoming gave a brief nod, opening his own bottle and taking a drink before heading out of the room. At least he'd had the courtesy to leave the bottle opener.

"Perhaps even soon you shall have the opportunity to face me. Then we'll see what happens." He chuckled on his way out, causing pretty much everyone in the room to shake their heads, except for Florida who was far too cheerful from the comment, and Carolina, who simply growled softly to herself and left the room.

"She's just a bundle of fun, isn't she?" Virginia muttered, leaning back in a chair of her own after placing her own bottle on the table and grabbing a nearby book, settling back to do some reading. York didn't really hear her, staring off after the redhead.

A part of him did feel somewhat guilty; it was clear that she was just trying to impress the Director. Well, they all were, but she seemed to take a lot of this to heart. Dedication was good, but this seemed a little extreme, even for a specialist soldier. But whatever, that was her decision. She'd have her reasons.

"So, that's one mission done." His attention turned back to Massa, whose own gaze was on him with a small smirk. "Any idea what we're doing next, oh fearless Number One?"

York couldn't help but laugh, shaking his head. "I don't even know what that means," he admitted, glancing out of the observation window at the board on the other side. "Number One. The scoreboard seems like some kind of way of splitting us apart, don't you think? I mean, how can we work as a team if we're constantly competing?"

"I can see your point." Florida replied, leaning back and following the tan armored man's gaze to the bright blue light ahead of them. "But you hear the Director before; it's not to start a war, right? Maybe it's just there so we know how to improve. So we can take advice off of each other. It could be a positive thing."

York sure hoped so, otherwise this Project would fall down before it had even learnt to stand.


	21. Chapter 20: Old Habits Die Hard

**(A/N) Hey everyone! As you all know, this chapter was supposed to come out yesterday, to coincide with Roosterteeth's tenth anniversary. Unfortunately, my flight last night was delayed by a few hours, so I only got home in the early hours of this morning, and wasn't able to put this up. Damn Ryan Air and the English weather. But I've got some good new for y'all, as with this chapter comes several new announcements!**

**One, the list is now up for the writers that we have accepted for part two of this 'fic. Congratulations to the writers that have been accepted, and commiserations to those who did not. I would once again like to thank everyone that applied, but we sadly could not accept all of you, so some people were always going to lose out. We hope you will apply again at a later date.**

**Our second, and possibly the bigger of the two, is that we will, from now on, be updating three days a week, Monday, Wednesday and Saturday. With our extra group of writers, we'll hopefully soon be churning out serious chapters, so here's to our new three updates a week program! :) Hope you'll all tune in for our next chapter tomorrow, (this update was intended to be the first Monday update, but meh, nothing ever goes entirely to plan).**

**This chapter was written by me, as our writer for Wyoming, Ausphin, disappeared a while back and we have been unable to get back in contact with him. If anyone are interested in this role, please contact me and I will let you know if you meet our requirements (may also give you a few questions to answer). For now, I will be taking on all assigned Wyoming chapters until we recast his writer. So I really hope you all enjoy this as I had a lot of fun writing this chapter. **

**Anyway, enjoy!**

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**Chapter Twenty – Old Habits Die Hard**

**Agent Wyoming**

**Written by NicKenny**

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_"Friendship needs no words - it is solitude delivered from the anguish of loneliness."_ - Dag Hammarskjold

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Wyoming picked up the sniper rifle, popped open the chamber and slowly loaded it, snapping it shut again with a sense of calm detachment. He hefted the rifle over his shoulder, swaggering over to the far end of the training room, a small platform rising to about hip height next to him as he reached his position. He knelt down behind it, propping the sniper rifle up on the platform in order to steady his aim, and waved his free hand towards the ceiling for a second before placing it back on the barrel of the rifle.

F.I.L.S.S. acknowledged his signal, "Round beginning," echoing throughout the room as, on the far wall, roughly forty holographic green circles, each about the size of a dinner plate, formed and slowly began to move around the wall, passing over and under one another in a seemingly random pattern.

He took a moment to observe the targets, steadying himself with a deep breath, and under his visor his mouth curled into a smug smile.

_This was what I was_ born _to do_, he thought to himself, eyes locked on a circle that was just about to partially pass through another.

A rifle shot rang out and the two circles turned red as the round passed through them both, slowly descending to the bottom left corner of the wall where they remained, soon joined by another four of their comrades as Wyoming's rifle rang out three more times, and he was forced to stop and reload.

That was a drawback of the System 99 Anti-Matériel, he had to grudgingly admit. A four cartridge chamber was not ideal when you were fighting forces greater than your own, and Wyoming had plenty of experience in fights of that kind. He knew that many of the other Freelancers, Alaska in particular, looked down on the sniper rifle due to its low round capacity, and maybe they had a point. Wielded in the hands of an ordinary man, the sniper rifle was a considerably less threatening weapon that a DMR, battle rifle or assault rifle.

However, Wyoming wasn't an ordinary man. He was a Freelancer, and the best one in this particular area. Sure, Virginia had displayed some talent as a sniper, but she couldn't compete with him, and they both knew it. "_One shot, one kill_" had been the motto of Wyoming's regiment in the UNSC, but he had always noted that he often killed more than one person with a single shot.

And that was what had gotten him into this project.

His gun rang out four more times and seven green circles suddenly flashed red and descended down the wall to join their fallen brethren. The next four shots took down six more, as did the next four, and the next.

Finally he was left facing a wall with only three green circles still moving across its surface, and one last bullet left in his rifle's chamber. He paused, waiting for the right moment, loath to take an easy shot and be forced to reload his rifle. He knelt there for several minutes, unmoving, awaiting his chance, when his rifle finally rang out one last time, the bullet phasing through the holographic surfaces of the three circles and smashing into the very tangible surface of the wall, dropping to the ground beneath with a little _ping._

"Round over," F.I.L.S.S.'s motherly voice intoned, echoing throughout the room. "This session sets a new record for you, Agent Wyoming. All forty targets eliminated with the use of twenty-six rounds, beating your previous record by two rounds."

Wyoming grinned, removing his helmet and punching the fist holding it into the air in mock celebration. "Could I ask what Virginia's current record is, F.I.L.S.S.?" he asked smoothly, twirling his moustache with his free hand.

There was a brief pause before F.I.L.S.S. answered; no doubt looking for confirmation that she could reveal the data in question. "Agent Virginia's record is thirty-five rounds."

Wyoming nodded, his smile growing even wider. Virginia was good, no doubt about that. Even back with his own squad, no one other than Wyoming himself would have been able to surpass her. But that was the important thing. He _was _better than her. Even though she had caught him off-guard on that simulation mission, he was still the better agent, as a sniper at the very least. That was why he was fourth, after all, and Virginia was a place behind him in fifth.

_Dreadfully sorry, old girl, _he thought smugly, _but you're going to have to do better than that to beat _me.

Well, he was above her for the moment at least. After Alaska's loss to Florida the night before, the table might be updated at any stage. Which was why he was out here, training, while York, Florida, Virginia and Massachusetts recovered from their respective hangovers gained from partying the night before. He was just glad he had taken the one beer and left, well before York had gotten out the jäger...

He should probably try getting to know the crew better too, he suddenly realised. He could use some items that weren't _technically _allowed on-board the _Mother of Invention_ due to the Director's unfortunately harsh policies regarding etiquette and the agent's abilities to perform their tasks. Then there were the little things he craved, but had been deemed too trivial by Project Freelancer to actually order them when the supply-pelicans came from Eris.

Apparently Earl Grey wasn't a necessity for Project Freelancer.

"You're on quite a streak, agent," F.I.L.S.S.'s voice murmured admiringly. Your training scores have increased remarkably over the last week."

"Not a streak, my dear, a habit." Wyoming corrected, emptying the spent cartridges out of his rifle's chamber and dumping them in the spent ammo bin next to the weapon's table.

A slow handclap began from to Wyoming's left, and he glanced over to see Florida casually leaning against the wall by the entrance, a steaming mug of cocoa in one of his hands that threatened to spill over onto the training room floor with each clap.

"Fine shootin'," he commented, ending his applause and raising his mug in Wyoming's direction as a sort of salute, beaming wildly from behind the cocoa. "Don't know how those guys where even able to get a shot off at poor ol' Penn."

Wyoming shrugged, dropping the sniper rifle back on the weapon's table and slowly walking over. "Can't take out everyone at once, old chap. Key to being a sniper is patience. Penn could probably use some. Good enough fellow and all that, but needs to learn to bide his time."

Florida nodded, his smile slipping a bit. He paused to take a sip of his drink, wincing slightly at the heat, then looked back up at Wyoming. "Still…" he began, pausing as he searched for the right words. "Terrible thing that happened to him. Could have been anyone of us, after all."

Wyoming nodded sagely, agreeing with the shorter soldier. "Indeed. Could have ended badly for the big guy. The medics seem to have done a good job patching him up though. He was in good enough shape to watch your fight against Alaska. Left pretty soon after though."

He shook his head slowly, visions of Penn lying in a pool of his own blood, hands firmly grasping the flag, flashing through his mind. "Anyway, enough about that, how about your little tussle with Alaska yesterday? Hell of a fight. Hopefully it'll have knocked him down a peg or two."

Florida chuckled a bit, waving away Wyoming's praise with his free hand. "It was nothing, really. Al just needed to be taught a little respect, that's all. He's a good kid really, just needs a prod in the right direction from time to time."

Wyoming snorted and shook his head in disbelief, feeling that he probably had a much better idea of what Alaska was like that Florida did, with all his amusing naivety and good cheer. He had known men like Alaska during his stint in the UNSC. They rarely learned their lesson, no matter how hard it was drilled into them. Indeed, Wyoming was probably one of those men himself. He was a creature of habit after all. It always took an effort to embrace the new, and the potentially dangerous. Old habits die hard, after all.

_Speaking of habits…_

He paused, glancing suspiciously at the mug of cocoa in Florida's hand. "The new shipment of supplies come in yet?" he asked cautiously, not willing to raise his hopes.

"Yep, came in about an hour ago," the shorter man replied, smiling.

"Don't suppose they had any Earl Grey on board?"

Florida shook his head sadly. "Don't think so, but you should try taking it up with the Director. He'll want to keep the moral of our little group up, or I'm not Agent Florida."

"Already have," Wyoming stated grimly, walking past Florida through the doorway that the other soldier had been propped up against. "Apparently the UNSC's rations are supposed to suffice. Sacrilege!"

"Tough break," Florida murmured sympathetically, following behind, although Wyoming was almost too lost in his own self-pity to notice. He shook his head, gave a sorrowful little sigh and waved his hand in the air carelessly.

"Don't worry about it. We all have our own burdens to bear."

Florida smiled a little at that and shook his head. "We don't have to bear them alone. We are a team, after all."

Wyoming glanced back at him, a quizzical eyebrow raised. "What do you mean?" he asked, a trace of confusion present in his voice.

Florida shrugged. "I notice you didn't hang around after the party started yesterday. You never really offer up anything about what you did before Project Freelancer, even more so than Penn or Al. All we know is that you served in the UNSC for a while, which is pretty much common across the whole darn board. Just wanted to let you know, as my gran' pappy always said, a problem shared is a problem halved."

Wyoming laughed, turning to face his companion. "Hate to break it to you, old chap, but sometimes it _really_ isn't," he said, moving towards Florida until their faces were only a few inches apart, a note of anger and disdain entering his voice. "Anyway, you're one to talk about secrecy, and burdens. Anyone brings up _your _past and you clam up like an oyster."

He turned around and strode off, leaving the other freelancer standing their helplessly, a troubled look on his face. Wyoming strode into the cafeteria, pushing through the throng of personnel that swarmed the hall, and sat down at an empty table, muttering darkly to himself as he fumed away. The personnel quickly learned to leave him be, after he punched the first one brave enough to come over and ask him if anything was the matter.

Alaska came into the hall, but sat at a table by himself far away from Wyoming, which was fine with him. No doubt his defeat yesterday still rankled, and Wyoming knew that he probably would have cracked a few jokes at Al's expense had he not been so irritated by Florida's inquiries.

A tray was placed on top of the table in front of him, a cup filled with an unmistakable elixir in the dead centre. Wyoming looked up into the face of Agent Florida, whose features were set in a look of determination and resolve.

"Wh…where did you get this?" Wyoming asked, non-plussed, unable to believe his own eyes.

Florida just smiled wearily, shrugging. "You just have to be friendly with the right people. Friends help each other out."

He gestured towards the cup and Wyoming picked it up slowly, allowing the scent to waft up, breathing it in deeply with a sigh as satisfaction as unmistakable recognition dawned. He tilted it to his lips, eyes widening as the oh-so-familiar liquid danced across his taste buds, and he set the cup down, looking back at Florida.

"That's…really good of you, old chap," he murmured, his anger gone, replaced by a sense of guilt and shame. "You're right, you know. Friends do help one another out."

He paused, glancing back down at the cup, a slight smile playing across his face as he considered his next few words. "I could use a friend."

He extended his hand across the table, offering it to Florida. "Name's Reginald," he said, his eyes locked on Florida's blue ones, maintaining his smile.

Florida smiled back, his blue eyes twinkling with the lights of the cafeteria and a spark that seemed to burn from within, taking Wyoming's hand in his own and shaking it warmly. "Butch."


	22. Chapter 21: Nightmares

**(A/N) Time for our second update of this week, this one actually being on time! Brought to you by the incredible OhSoDeadly, who has captured Florida's personality to such an extent that it actually takes my breath away when I read his chapters for the first time.**

**The new profile pic for this fanfic is a piece of work by the incredible ARCtroop over on deviantart. Go check him out right now for the full picture (my attempts at cropping it ended in failure).**

**As you know, we've signed on some new writers, and will be introducing new characters shortly, so watch out for that. We're still looking out for someone to write Wyoming, so if anyone out there are interested, PM us for more information.**

**Enjoy!**

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**Chapter Twenty-One - Nightmares**

**Agent Florida**

**Written by OhSoDeadly**

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_"She shook her head in puzzlement. 'You're very strange,' she said.__  
__'No, I'm very ordinary,' said Arthur, 'but some very strange things have happened to me. You could say I'm more differed from than differing.'"_– The Restaurant at the End of the Universe

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When the alarm went off at approximately 7:30 AM, shipboard time, in Agent Florida's bunkroom, a pair of blue eyes snapped open and regarded the ceiling with a keen gaze. Built into it was a tiny little skylight, and through it, he could see stars.

What a great way to start the day! Though what with all the blackness outside and around, it sure as shootin' didn't look like day. Best way to change that was to get to work, get the blood pumpin' and keep on truckin'!

He started his day off as he usually did-flinging himself off the top bunk and landing on the ground with near-catlike grace. Once he was outta bed, it was time for a little exercise. His breath puffed and wheezed like a teakettle as he began some one-handed push-ups. Healthy workout, that was the ticket!

Only a few metres from his head, Alaska still slept. The man's face was far from serene, and he tossed and turned and grumbled like a toddler in a crib. Haha, another funny image! Maybe he'd take some time off to draw it and paste it on his locker. He used to be quite the drawer, way back in the day…before he'd come to the UNSC and started up a brand new life. Though Florida hated wallowing in bygone events more than cherry tomatoes, it was the one thing he had no bones about taking with him, into this new chapter of the life of Butch Flowers.

Even as he flipped over and began a series of gruelling sit-ups with the medicine ball he'd requisitioned from inventory, an image came unbidden to his head. He almost stopped immediately, frozen to his core by the sheer force of the memory. _Oh, godda-_

_"Daddy! Lookit, lookit!"__  
__He turned, bent down and swept the little golden-headed blur up into his arms with a joyous cry. "Ellie, sweetheart! What is it you've got to show me? Did you find another shinebeetle? Don't get dirt all down your dress now, it's almost supper time!"__  
__Elizabeth Flowers, all of four years old, shook her head firmly and withdrew a grubby piece of paper from a pocket in her overalls. "No, daddy, lookit. I drawed you a pick chair."__  
__"Did you now?" He unrolled the scrap of paper, and his heart melted at the sight. A brown line, with pink and red flowers drawn on it, and five stick figures standing holding hands. One of them was wearing blue clothing, and above the figure's head, were the words, in childish scrawl, "_the best daddy ever."  
_He placed the drawing to his heart and swept Ellie up in another hug. "You are my world, "he whispered quietly. "And I'll always be here for you."__  
__"Promise, daddy?"__  
__"You betcha." He then scooped her up and placed her on his back, roaring like a dinosaur. Shrieking with delight, the two of them careered off through the house, laughing like a pair of maniacs._"-mnit."

He dropped the medicine ball to the floor with a resounding thud, and flopped down onto the floor. Stared at the ceiling. But not even the skylight offered him any comfort now. He drew in a shaky breath. Why did the past keep sinking its claws into him?

Maybe he should just go back to sleep. Sure, he might run into some nasty nightmares, but he might not. You never knew, was one of his mottos.

_Yep. You never know when the sky will burn, and take everything you love with it. You really don't._He grimaced, and massaged his forehead. "Quiet you!" he whispered furiously. "Just be quiet-"

A pillow sailed from out of nowhere and smacked him firmly in the head. He yelped and whirled around.

Alaska had propped himself up on one elbow, a big ol' frown on his face. "Three things, Florida my friend. One, talking to oneself is MY thing. Certainly not yours. Second, just because you bested me in our last practice match doesn't make us the best of friends. Third and last of all…" He quickly turned and threw the shipboard alarm clock next to his bed directly at his head. "Shut up!"

He ducked, and the clock flew over his head and hit the far wall. Pieces of plastic and glass were strewn across the carpet like leaves. Florida shook his head at such a mess, and for such a silly reason, but he stood up and nodded in apology. "Sorry, Al. Didn't mean to wake you. Just…ah, just one of those mornings, you know?"

Alaska snorted, and swung his legs onto the floor. "With you, Florida, every morning is one of those mornings." He scratched his head vigorously, like a mouse devouring a piece of cheese. "You are obviously feeling social this morning, so I propose that you leave our little abode and go find those who have a far more agreeable start to the day-" he yanked out a black hair that had a touch of grey about it-"than me. Why don't you go do that?"

Well, Florida was no noddy. He knew Al just wanted him to leave him alone. But heck, having time to yourself was hardly a crime! And maybe the man was right, who could say who was around the ship at this time of day? Who knows what he'd find? A little smile coursed over his face. It'd be like an adventure!

Not to mention he could use some Butch Flowers time. It had been non-stop go-action since he arrived and he was hankerin' for some…hmm, what was the word?

He broke out of his funk and asked his roommate, "Hey, Al. What's that word for when you just wanna have a look around the old brain-box, you know, check up on how everything's going-"

"Introspection."

He snapped his fingers. "That's the one, alright!" Heading over to his miniature locker near the door, he pulled out his training gloves, a sweatband and a pair of running shoes. "I reckon you've hit the nail on the head, Al. A good walk-around the mother'll do me the world of good!" He paused, then asked, "Al?"

Alaska was staring intently at the wall, occasionally nodding. "Yes, yes. Good. Off you go."

"Are you-"

"Shhhh. Moi is trying to speak. Don't interrupt. Rude, rude."

And since Florida had the highest respect for a person's morning ritual, he left without saying anythin' else.

* * *

The training room was a few floors up from where he was bunking, so he went down the corridor and stepped into the personnel elevator. The doors slid shut, and the intercom came on. "_Good morning, Agent Florida! Where would you like to go?"_"Mornin', F.I.L.S.S.! Hope you're having a lovely day! Training room, please."

_"Certainly! And may I say, Agent, that you seem to be in a good mood today. Your dopamine levels are at an exceptionally good standard!"_"Thanks a bunch, F.I.L.S.S.!" Gosh, what a nice computer lady!

The smooth ride came to an abrupt stop, and the doors slid open a second time. Florida immediately straightened up, in case it was the Director or the Counselor. Wouldn't do to look slouchy in front of the bosses!

But it wasn't either of them, instead, it was a fella of average size and the most colourful clothes he'd ever laid eyes on. Good grief, it looked like he'd been attacked by a gang of rabid spray-cans! He tried not to laugh as the new arrival stepped into the elevator and hit a button of his own. He shot a glance at Florida through his visor. "You're up early."

Florida grinned. "I'll be getting the worm! Ha ha ha!"

The man stared at him for a few seconds, and then shook his head. "Not sure I understand." He folded his arms, and Florida noticed he had the medical insignia on his shoulder, underneath a smear of orange and purple. A medic, then! He felt a sudden rush or gratitude towards the man. It was him and his that were helping Penn get back on his feet.

Smoothing over the awkward pause, he stuck out a paw. "I'm Agent Florida! What's your name?"

The multi-coloured man extended his own set-o'-five and they shook. "Oh, so you're that guy, are you? Heard about the job you did on Alaska. Nice going. The guy's a prick."

Florida tried not to let his smile falter, but right now he was torn. Al could be kind of a bozo, but he was still his bunkmate. "Oh, you know, it was just a splendid tussle all around-"

"What many fail to realise, "the medic continued, not even registering the fact that he'd cut him off, "is the sheer uninhibited _level_of prickness he has. Pricks come and go, but Alaska is, like, the one prick to rule them all. King of the pricks. Chairman of the fucking board. Oh, and he's crazy. Did I mention he's crazy?"

Florida shook his head. He got the feeling talking was kind of…not an option at this moment. Maybe in a second.

"Well. He is. And not the good kind of crazy either. The kind that doesn't know the difference between throwing rocks at a cat and setting it on fire. You watch out for him."

"Umm…will Penn be ok?" This all came out rushed.

"Hmm? Oh, right, that guy. Yeah, he'll be fine. Nabbed a sweet bit of downtime from me but whatever. I'll get my payback someday." The elevator came to a stop, and the door dinged. "Here's my stop. You have a nice day now. Or don't. I'm a medic, not a PR man." He stepped out, and half-turned. "Private First Class Killian Jay. Since you asked." The door closed, and the ascent continued.

Florida would have mulled over his comments regarding Al, but for some reason, all he did was stand there and blink. _Sometimes in life you'll find moments that aren't in any sorta manual to life,_his dad had stated once, _and you won't do anything but stop and stare._He was pretty sure his dad wouldn't have counted on this, though. "Good grief, " he muttered.

* * *

At this hour, he was pretty darned certain of finding himself a comfy spot in the training room, but as luck would have it, when he walked up to the entrance door, the lock buzzed red. He frowned, and spoke aloud. "F.I.L.S.S., is there somebody in there already?"

_"Correct, Agent Florida. Agent Carolina is currently in the middle of a hand-to-hand simulation. However, she has only logged herself in for another seven minutes, so she should be finishing shortly. Would you like to listen to some music while you wait?"_"Boy, would I!" What a treat! Usually free play of music was banned by the Director, but that was F.I.L.S.S. for you; trying to put a smile on everyone's dial, any way she could! He sat himself down on a bench beside the doors and tapped his foot and nodded his head to the beat as he waited.

In a little while, he heard the doors slide open with a muted groan, and footsteps. He immediately stood. He had whole bags full o' respect for Carolina. She was practically their leader. Or would be, pretty soon! He beamed as she walked in. "Morning, Carolina!"

She was wearing a black training vest, trousers and combat boots, but her forehead was sheathed in sweat. Hearing his greeting, she turned slowly and gave him a curt nod. "Florida. Come to train, I see. Good. We all need to stay sharp." She started pulling off her boots, flexing her toes.

"I'll say! We're a fit bunch, alright, but it always pays to keep yourself up to the mark." He started donning his gloves and sweatband. "How did the session go?"

"Fine. Some improvement. I'll be back later today, so don't stay too long." She started unstrapping the vest, to reveal a tank top underneath. He winced at seeing the red marks on her underarms. The woman worked harder than his ma ever had, and that was a fact. Always a go-getter, Carolina, but sometimes she worked too darned hard. Work and play, and some people tended to forget the latter.

Obviously, she wasn't much of a talker, but Florida was a big believer in cheering people up, so he tried one last time. "Apparently Penn's gonna be A-ok! Isn't that good news?"

He watched her face closely, and as she nodded slowly, he understood. _She wants to be all hard and tough like a rock,_he thought, _but she does care. Deep down. You just gotta dig a little…_A small smile on her face, come and gone in a flash. "That is good news. I'm glad to hear it." She stood up, gear in hands and no nonsense in her voice. "There's no time for laying about on this ship. Later, Florida." She walked out of the room, head held high.

Looking after her, Florida smiled a little smile of his own. Not so bad, after all. But by cheese and whiskers, she needed to let her hair down a little! That York fellow was surely the expert on that. _Hmm, maybe he and Carolina…_nope, nope, enough of that. It was no-one's business but theirs. It would be effrontery of the worst kind.

It would be rather nice, though. Young love was always a sight to see!

He got up, and started stretching his arms as he walked into the training room. The cavernous space was quite empty, except for a small console set in the far wall. When he'd finally reached it, he started inputting commands for a hand-to-hand drill. "Darn thing should be near the door, " he grumbled. But he put that out of his mind as he stepped into the middle, and waited for the simulation to begin.

Normally, he would be practising something more suited to his style, like infiltration, or attrition-style combat. But that last tiff with Al had shown that his CQC skills weren't up to snuff, no sir! So, since FILSS hadn't yet crafted a bunch of ninja robot dummies (as York had been plaintively wishing for the other day), he had to use this instead. What a shame! An army of robots would be a heck of a challenge, and by gum, Florida always appreciated challenges. It would be like that time on Antilles IX-

A series of holographic green circles rose up from the floor and started circling him. Whops-a-daisy! No time for that now. He immediately ducked into a fighting stance and started the drill. Two orbs flew at him like angry ghosts, but he dispatched one with a thrust elbow and the other with a mean right hook. They turned red after a loud beep, and continued to spin. It was up to him to make sure he didn't accidentally hit them again, otherwise his score would take a big ol' hit. But he stayed intent on the green ones. He could feel the sweat starting to run down his forehead already as he delivered a roundhouse kick, pivoted on his grounded foot and punched another orb. _Beep. Beep beep. Beep._

After what seemed like an eternity of laying the hurt on the holograms, he came to a stop, fists up and panting heavily. Holy smokes, what a workout! He should do this one more often, keep his body guessing. At his age, it would help anyway. _After a fair bit of living, the body gets to know things,_as dad had once said philosophically, _so throwing new things at it is always interesting._"Score, F.I.L.S.S.?" He hastily added, "Please!"

"_Calculcating. You showed an efficiency score of 72%, Agent. Might I suggest lowering the difficulty level?"_That didn't sound like no good idea to him! "Sorry F.I.L.S.S., but you have to train like you'd fight in the real world! Our enemies aren't gonna be takin' it easy on us, that's for sure. Thanks for asking though!" He wiped sweat from his upper lip, and then breathed in heavily. "Run it again, please."

"_Of course."_And off he was again! The orbs spun and whirred, and he found himself jumping like a monkey trying to hit them all. Efficiency in this sim, he'd learned, was less about hitting the targets and more about how quickly you could hit them. That was probably why Carolina liked it so much, she was like greased lightning! He would have to be the same. He jumped into the air and delivered a quick one-two kick, but landed awkwardly and lost vital seconds getting his balance back. "Fudge!" he hissed.

He didn't expect a good result, and he didn't get it. "_Your efficiency level was at 67%, Agent. Would you like to run it again?"_"You bet." He was hard pressed to keep up a cheerful attitude now, for some reason. He scowled a little. His bad morning was doing its dandiest to stay with him. The holograms winked green, and he threw himself back into it, uncomfortably aware of the numbness creeping up his arms and legs.

Three more times he ran the simulation, and he never managed more than seventy percent. At the end of the last one, he sighed, and conceded defeat. He just wasn't on his best game today. Thanking FILSS for the session, he trudged dispiritedly out of the room, tearing the sweatband from his sticky forehead and shoving it into his pocket. "What a lousy day, " he mumbled to himself. Looks like today just wasn't gonna work for him.

When he stepped back through the door, he closed his eyes for a second and immediately regretted it. The holograms had reminded him of the green of plasma fire during the war, and though he hadn't wanted to let on to anyone about it, let alone himself, he found that they triggered some nasty memories. Nasty as he'd ever encountered.

_-roaring tall aliens skewering innocent people on their swords-__  
__-the screams of alien fliers bombarding houses to rubble-__  
__-the terrified shouts of marines and civilians alike-__  
_-_the emerald flashes of alien weapons scorching themselves in his retinas forever-__  
__-his family-_"Florida, old chap!"

He awoke from his awake-nightmare with a start, and saw Wyoming standing before him, hands on hips. He was in armour, but his helmet was off. His eyebrows were bunched in concern, and one hand went up to stroke his moustache. "Are you quite alright, mate? You look…flustered."

"Oh, me?" Florida did his best to shake off the grisly thoughts and treated the other man to one of his biggest smiles. "Not to worry! Just not the best go of it in the training room. Those hand-to-hand sims are a doozy and a half." He sat down on a bench and pulled off his gloves.

To his surprise, Wyoming went and sat alongside him, nodding fervently. "You're bloody right about that. Personally, I don't see what the fuss is about. We all have our specialties, hmm? We can leave the up-close-and-personal work to brutes like Pennsylvania, whilst sneaky fellows like you and I get the real work done."

He winked and laughed heartily. Florida found himself doing the same, despite the fact he wasn't sure calling Penn a brute was nice, though definitely deserved. It sure was a nice way of looking at it! "You've got something there, Wyoming. There are plenty of us around anyhow, we should be fine, right?"

"Right you are, old chap. The Director can't always get what he wants, after all." He stood up, and slapped his haunches. "I'm due for a spot of hand-to-hand myself, but later on we should team up on a stealth drill. What do you say? I think we'd work rather well together."

Boy, what a nice offer! Florida clasped Wyoming's alabaster-sheathed hand and shook. "That sounds terrific!"

"Excellent." The door slid open, and Wyoming slotted his helmet onto his head. "Must go now, "he said briskly, "but I'll see you later. Cheerio!" And with that, he stepped into the training room and was gone.

Florida grinned a little bit. Wyoming sure was different once you got past all his nose-in-the-air behaviour and actually talked to him. Maybe not the nicest fella as far as everyone was concerned, but good enough in his book!

Suddenly, F.I.L.S.S.' blue avatar lit up in a small sconce above his head. "_Agent Florida, your presence is required in the briefing room. The Director is preparing a mission briefing. Ensure you have your armour with you. Have a nice day!"_The avatar winked off.

A new mission! How exciting! Hopefully, he reflected, it would go a heck of a lot better than the last. But hey, last time had been a big ol' muddle, right? This time, he knew, Project Freelancer would take to their task like a duck to water and pass with flying colours!

He padded out of the training room, reached the elevator and pressed the button that would lead back to the floor where his room was located. It was time to get down and dirty!


	23. Chapter 22: Stealth Mode

**(A/N) It's Saturday, and that means it's a new update Phase One: Origins! Really excited to see how this chapter goes down, as Agent Massachusetts undertakes her first stealth mission, written, as always, by our marvellous admin Ayane458. Next update will be Monday, as we're sticking with our promise for three updates a week. See you all then.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Two - Stealth Mode**

**Agent Massachusetts**

**Written by Ayane458**

* * *

"_You want stealth? Be a rogue in 'World of Warcraft'."_ – John Romero

* * *

The ride was bumpy.

Massa wasn't particularly afraid of flying. Even if she ever had been, you got used to it in their line of work, where Pelicans are a primary form of transport. But today, she knew her knuckles were white as they gripped the bar keeping her in her seat. Naturally, she didn't let any of this show on the surface – Carolina was _right there_, and the woman hardly needed any more ammunition when it came to insulting her.

So Massa sat, only wincing when her head hit the back of her seat too hard after a particularly violent jolt of the plane, and just waited for them to land, damn it.

When they did land with a shudder, and the bay door opened, the reason for their bumpy descent became clear.

"Jesus," Virginia murmured. Carolina stoically left her seat, moving to grab her weapons. Massa sighed and did the same.

"Welcome to Sidewinder, ladies," 479er called, "now get out before my bird gets buried."

Massa cracked a grin that went unseen. "See you later, ma'am," she called back, hopping off the ramp and landing in the snow that instantly swallowed her up, knee deep. She guessed that it would be easier to walk in without the metric ton armour she was wearing, if colder.

"Lovely place," Massa declared cheerfully. She was only half kidding.

Massa had been born in Queensland, Australia. No snow. Ever.

Perhaps not the best first exposure to bitingly cold weather, but it still looked fascinating to Massa. Very white and falling very fast, barely a trace of colour in sight as flakes whipped to and fro with the wind and all sound seemingly absorbed into the surroundings.

"I'll take you again for a holiday sometime," Virginia quipped, and the two shared a quick smile.

"Enough, you two," Carolina snapped, completely ruining the nice friendly bonding moment as 479er took off once again. Carolina looked to the north, where very faint lights could be seen shining through the heavy snow. Their target, the Blue base of Sidewinder. "Our objective is–"

"–to take out the Blue leader without alerting any guards," Virginia finished, effectively cutting off Carolina's first attempt at taking complete control of the mission. She was the team leader, and Massa did follow the chain of command, but even she had to agree that Carolina seemed a little too insecure about her position. Perhaps being kicked down to number two (and placed on a mission with number three, her direct competition) was a bit unsettling to her.

"Can we walk and talk, ladies?" Massa asked. "I have no desire to get myself frozen out here." She shook off snow that was quickly piling up around her legs to illustrate her point. Virginia made a slight motion that Massa believed meant she was rolling her eyes under her helmet, while Carolina seemed to narrow her eyes just the tiniest bit.

Massa gave it a week, tops, before she tired of Carolina's attitude.

Nevertheless, Carolina gestured for them all to start moving towards the faint, glimmering lights in the distance. Massa could see that they primarily came from (what she assumed to be, barring any rises or dips in the snow obscuring her view) the ground floor, with a few a storey up. Bringing to mind previous bases she'd seen, this one probably had the standard build –one floor, plus a roof with cover and turrets provided.

It quickly became evident that Massa's assumptions were correct.

Guards would have a brilliant, 360° view on any incoming hostiles from their positions on the base's roof, with the ability spray the surrounding area with turret fire in case of an attack… if any guards had been paying attention to anything other than their freezing hands and whining.

"C'mon, no one's really this stupid," Massa muttered, absolutely certain it was a set-up.

"Massa, I think you've yet to learn the kind of loyalty that being stuck in the ass-crack of nowhere on minimum wage for months inspires," Virginia noted dryly. Carolina seemed to agree with this statement, as she didn't have many qualms about walking _right up_ to the wall of the base.

To be fair, she did take all the usual precautions –staying low, out of view of windows, etc., etc… but nothing special.

Massa and Virginia followed, Massa very aware of the green armour she wore and how it would stand out against the snow. There was limited visibility out here, but get close enough with this white background no one could miss her.

As the three women ducked against the curved wall, the lights of the windows mere metres away and the quiet drone of the guards' voices drifting down from the roof, Massa tried to shake those thoughts away. So stealth wasn't her strong suit and she was a little out of her comfort zone here. Didn't mean she had to be so bloody paranoid…

"Not a single guard inside can be alerted of our presence," Carolina hissed. "We go onto the roof and take down the guards quickly and _quietly_. Understood?"

"How many are up there?" Virginia asked.

"I can't tell from trackers," Massa informed them, eying the red dots scattered across her HUD. Trackers told you how many were in the general area. No indication of elevation or anything like that.

Carolina sighed a little dramatically, and Massa raised an unseen eyebrow. Virginia just wearily stared at her through the visor.

"Four up top," she declared. "I took a look while we were further back."

"Visibility's bad," Massa pointed out. "Are you sure you saw them all?" As soon as the question left her mouth, Massa predicted the slight twitch Carolina gave in response and the cruel stare that was somehow only partially hidden by the visor.

"I'm _sure_," Carolina replied, nodded her head slowly as if talking to a small child. Massa felt the very sincere urge to throw the mission and toss Carolina in through the window for the Blue troops to handle, but she hadn't gotten through several years of medical school and UNSC training by being impulsive.

"Massa, you're not very experienced in stealth, right?" Virginia asked, casting a warning glance at Carolina in case she would pipe up again. "Maybe you stay on the edge take out a few with your pistol."

Massa nodded, hoping Carolina wouldn't jump on her for that. Carolina seemed to naturally excel at most things, sneaking being one of them. She had no idea where on Earth (or wherever) Virginia had acquired her skills, but she had them. Massa knew that here, she was the weakest link. It wasn't a pleasant feeling.

Carolina and Virginia, in a rare moment of agreement, separated opposite ways to find the most convenient place to get onto the roof without getting in each other's way.

A window surrounded by a ledge provided Massa with ample height to peak over the edge of the roof, careful to keep her head down and her feet up –the last thing she needed was for some idiot drinking nice warm cocoa to see her foot dangling from above the window.

She pulled her pistol from its holster and scanned the rooftop. Four guards, like Carolina had said, and one of them was quite near her. None were paying attention, though, as they were all whining about being put on guard duty in the snow. A brief flash of green from her right alerted her to Virginia's presence. She couldn't see Carolina, but a muffled voice over the radio let her know she was ready.

"**Take them out**," Carolina hissed, and Massa didn't hesitate.

The silencer did its job well, only a muffled thump escaping the gun barrel as she fired at the guard closest to her. He fell silently, his armour lock activating and muting any curses he might have said.

Before any of the other three could yell, Carolina and Virginia hopped up onto the roof and attacked. Carolina hit the gun from one's hand and followed by pounding his head into the ground, shooting him before he could get up.

Virginia grabbed one by the arm and spun her around, taking her down with a shot to the stomach.

Massa finished off the last one with another two shots while the others were busy, lifting herself up onto the rooftop after he had fallen.

It had taken roughly fifteen seconds to take down all four guards.

Virginia went to work arranging them in vaguely natural positions, as if they'd all decided to nod off on the job. That was fairly possible in this place, so it probably wouldn't cause too much suspicion if no one looked too closely.

Carolina gestured Massa over to the open stairway leading down into the base. Disgruntled voices drifted up, indicating the presence of at least two. Massa topped up her Magnum, not wanting to be caught with too little bullets.

Virginia approached them, Carolina nodding to the stairway as she came. Virginia shrugged, crouching and silently making her way down the stairs to the inside of the base. She slowly put her head around the corner, shoulders hunching a bit –annoyance. She wasn't able to see them from that angle. She crept to the opposite end of the corridor and examined the same area from where she was now. She looked back up the stairway and help up three fingers. Three targets, that she could see.

Carolina and Massa followed her down, and they each took up positions in the hallway where they wouldn't easily be seen. Not that there was anyone to see them. Seriously, what the heck was up with these guys? Shouldn't they be patrolling the hallways or something? Whatever, idiots. _Their rookie mistakes, our easy win._

Through the open door a little down the hallway, it was fairly easy to see three Blues sitting around the table, playing a game of cards and one occasionally laughing uproariously. The three women exchanged glances before lifting up their guns as one and firing two shots each. The three soldiers' heads hit the table. One rolled off onto the floor.

Virginia tilted her head to the side. "Shouldn't this be harder?" she murmured.

"There is a time and place for paranoia and suspicion," Carolina said, "this isn't it."

Before Virginia could snap back, Massa smoothly cut in with, "I believe that means there's no trap set. These people are just that dumb."

Carolina nodded in approval –something Massa had mixed feelings about –and the three continued on.

"How many more can we expect?" Massa asked, looking around the empty corridors at a T-intersection. From previous missions, she suspected the number wasn't much. Seven was already a fairly large number for one base.

"I'd say no more than four, including the leader," Carolina said decidedly. Massa doubted she would've been able to hear her speak without the comm link. Massa should've thought of that – they only had to speak as loud as what would be picked up by their radios. Anything more could risk others hearing.

Virginia hushed them. Carolina was about to take it as an insult and chew her out, but Massa made a motion of hearing something (she couldn't hear anything, but Virginia sure looked like she could) and Carolina turned her attention to the right corridor.

Very, very faint voices began to register with Massa. The three exchanged quick glances, and Carolina took point down the corridor, M6G at the ready.

Massa focused on staying quiet and as out of the way as possible. She highly doubted _real_ stealth missions would be quite so simple –there would be better security, more troops and an objective that was important. Because of that, she tried to make a show of being cautious and quiet.

As the voices got clearer, Massa paid attention to the tone and let the other two worry about direction.

Three of them, once again. One voice was fairly dry, sort of amused. Another was high-pitched and scared. Not as if they thought their life was truly in danger and that the Freelancers' presence had been betrayed, just as if that was their natural state of being. The third was… it reminded Massa of Carolina's voice, in a way. Trying a bit too hard to be authoritative.

The leader, she presumed.

"Does this next bit truly require stealth?" Virginia asked honestly.

Carolina shrugged. Massa translated that to: _does it truly _not _require stealth_?

The next door down was the source of the voices. The three Freelancers had flattened themselves against the adjacent wall, listening in.

"I'm guessing the leader is the guy who keeps saying 'I'm in charge'," Carolina surmised.

"I wouldn't bet against it," Massa agreed.

Carolina quickly spun to the other side of the hall and shot three times through the door. The voices stopped and there was a definite thump.

After a second of silence, one voice started up again.

"Oh God, _sir!_ Oh my, Zsasz, did you see that? She just–" Virginia made the executive decision to shut that guy up.

Massa cautiously joined the other two at their position staring into the room. The third man –Zsasz –stared back unflinchingly.

"Hello, ladies," he greeted, raising a glass of what Massa assumed was apple juice to them.

"Aren't you going to try and shoot us?" Massa inquired, hands on her hips because the other two were already itching to shoot him before he could move an inch.

"Nope, no point," he replied sweetly. "Tell ya what, though. How about we get this over with? The suspense is just _killing_ me."

Massa and Virginia glanced at each other briefly while Carolina just stared.

"Ok then," Massa shrugged and shot him herself, as the other two seemed to not be all that bothered.

"That was strange," Massa said, holstering her pistol.

"Did he know these things aren't lethal or was he just going down with a smile?" Virginia asked breezily, turning around and making her way back down the hall.

Carolina radioed in, declaring their objective achieved and their mission a success.

Well then, that was her first stealth mission as a part of Project Freelancer. Rather anticlimactic, to be frank.


	24. Chapter 23: Knock-Knock

**(A/N) Our first Monday update that is actually coming out on a Monday! Also the day after my twentieth birthday, so I guess it's just a good day all round! Just realised after writing this chapter that this would have probably worked quite well as an April Fool's Day chapter, but what are you going to do. Anyway, this is a chapter by me, from the eyes of the fabulous Agent Wyoming, our favourite British freelancer!**

**A shout out to Casaric, who provided the idea for the simulation which takes place in this chapter! Here's to you! :)**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Three - Knock-Knock**

**Agent Wyoming**

**Written by NicKenny**

* * *

_"Common sense and a sense of humor are the same thing, moving at different speeds. A sense of humor is just common sense, dancing." _- William James

* * *

Wyoming was bored.

Normally, he'd have been pumped up with adrenaline for this simulation mission, despite the fact that, since the second one where Penn had been shot, there hadn't been any real upsets or injuries. Indeed, the last few had been a walk in the park, and ever since the mission to Sidewinder, which Wyoming hadn't taken part in, evening the teams due to Penn's incapacitation, the agents had pretty much strolled through their missions, no matter what challenges the Director or the Counselor had thrown at them. Indeed, Wyoming was starting to question the sanity of these sim troopers (their intelligence and ability had been thrown out from the start).

For example, when you capture an enemy and bring him into your base, who allows that same enemy to keep his armour and handcuffs him to a chair that even a non-Freelancer could break with ease? Wyoming hadn't been overly fond of the idea of allowing himself to be captured, particularly considering the fact that the sims had been issued live rounds, but the Director had assured he would not be harmed, and Wyoming was consoled slightly by the fact that Florida would be captured by the other group of sim troopers.

At least he had a good companion for the flight over. The pilot, whatever her name was, had never been particularly fond of him. Apparently her pelican was a no joke zone. He hadn't even gotten to the one about the rabbi and the priest eating at a restaurant before she had threatened to eject him.

Oh well, some people just didn't appreciate a good joke.

So here he was, cuffed to a chair with handcuffs that we had broken out of hours ago, surrounded by three red idiots who couldn't tell their knees from their elbows. This mightn't even be an exaggeration. In an attempt to amuse himself Wyoming had started cracking jokes a while back, but the sim troopers didn't appear to appreciate them much more than the pilot had.

"Knock-knock."

"WHAT?!" the one nearest to him screamed, spinning around to face him. "For God's sake, what is it this time?!"

Wyoming frowned, although his helmet prevented the reds from seeing it, so he slowly repeated his previous two words, his voice oozing with disdain.

"Knock. Knock."

"Who's there?" the soldier said wearily, evidently having heard dozens upon dozens of these jokes already.

"Boo."

The soldier sighed, knowing where this was going, but resigned to the fact that this was going to happen, whether he liked it or not.

"Boo who?"

Wyoming chortled in delight. "No need to cry, old chap. It's just a joke!"

One of the soldiers at the far side of the room began thumping his helmet into the wall. "For god's sake, SHUT UP!"

Wyoming grinned, and his amusement could easily be heard in his voice. "Doesn't look like anyone in this room has a sense of humour on them, does it boys?" The three soldiers stared at him, each contemplating murder, despite the orders their sergeant had given them. "Say, has anyone heard the one about the young priest and the prostitute?"

No one looked at him. The third soldier, who had been quiet up until now, was beginning to twitch. The silence went one for a few minutes, and Wyoming sighed.

"Come on, chaps. Someone be a sport. Just trying to kill some time here."

The first soldier, shaking slightly, stood up and turned around to face him.

"Ah, there's a good fellow. What does a ghost wear when it's raining outside?"

The soldier stared at him for a moment, then looked away. His two companions remained where they were, one still thumping his head off the wall, the other, still twitching, was pacing back and forth, staring at the ground.

Wyoming repeated his question, staring fixedly at the soldier nearest to him, who looked up and miserably asked: "What?"

"Booooooooooooooooooots!" Wyoming triumphantly exclaimed, grinning from ear to ear. The two soldiers spun around to glare at him, all of them beginning to shake uncontrollably. "I'm going to fucking kill him," one of them murmured to himself, his hands curling into fists.

"Okay boys, how about one more? Just this last one, I promise! Knock-knock."

One of the soldiers, his voice trembling, managed to reply as he slowly made his way towards Wyoming, the other two joining him. "Who's there?"

"Interrupting sheep."

His voice continuing to quaver, the same soldier managed to ask: "Interrupti-", before Wyoming suddenly interrupting him with an echoing "BAAAA!" followed by a long, victorious chuckle. The soldiers glanced at one another, telepathically communicating their shared desires to ignore their orders, just this one time, and throttle the life out of the man they were guarding.

"Knock-knock."

One of the soldiers stretched out his hand, pointing at Wyoming's visor. "You said that was the last one. You said. That. Was the last one."

"Dreadfully sorry old chap, but it would appear that I _lied_." Wyoming cheerfully replied, demonstrating a mirth that would have challenged Florida's.

"No," the second soldier murmured. "You can't do that. It's over. NO MORE JOKES!"

"No need to raise your voice, I'm right here."

The soldier leaned towards Wyoming, until their visors lightly touched off one another. "No. More. Jokes."

Wyoming nodded, appearing to be awed by the sheer display of masculinity and aggression that was before him. "Of course, of course."

The soldier leaned back, and they all sighed, rolling their shoulders back and appearing to relax. They slowly made their way back to their previous positions, clinging to the hope that maybe, just maybe, this time he would shut up.

"Knock-knock."

They froze, each of them shaking furiously. As one, they spun around, and the one nearest to Wyoming said, in a voice as shaky as the vibrations that were convulsing through his body, screamed at him. "I AM GOING TO KILL YOU, YOU STUPID. FUCKING. COCKBITE!"

At that moment the door, which had been sealed and firmly locked, buckled underneath some sort of assault, the _boom _echoing throughout the small room. The soldier froze in the act of beginning to strangling Wyoming at looked at one another. Wyoming, in a calm voice, repeated himself once more. "Knock-knock."

Another _boom _echoed, and the frame of the door shook, groaning under the pressure being exerted on the other side. One of the sim troopers gulped, and fearfully asked, in a voice as fragile as china: "Who's there?"

Wyoming began to laugh as the door flew off its hinges, slamming into one of the sim troopers and sending him sprawling onto the ground, unconscious. Other two raised their weapons as Penn's enormous frame strode into the room, his assault rifle on his back, casually observing the two soldiers facing him.

"Pain," Wyoming answered, as he stood up, shaking free of his cuffs, picking up the chair as he rose and slamming it into the back of one of the sim troopers, knocking him out immediately. The other sim trooper gaped at him, then turned back to Penn, who was slowly walking up to him. The red raised his battle rifle, but before he was able to fire it Penn's fist had shot forward, sending the trooper flying into the wall, which he slammed into and slowly slid down, moaning quietly.

Virginia strode through the opened doorway, tossing Wyoming her sniper rifle, which he caught deftly and quickly checked its chamber, making sure that it was loaded. Virginia walked past the two male agents, drawing her magnum and pointing it towards the red that Penn had just punched, pulling the trigger and sending him into armour lock.

Wyoming, satisfied that the rifle was loaded, hefted it over his shoulder and grinned. "What took you so long?" he asked, glancing from Pennsylvania to Virginia.

Virginia shrugged. "Stealth mission. Couldn't set off the alarms. Course, Penn still decided to punch his way through the door, rather than allowing Carolina to hack the control panel, but thankfully these sim troopers are dumb as hell."

Penn chuckled, looking at the mangled door at the far side of the room, an unconscious red pinned underneath it. "It did the job, didn't it? And it saved us some time."

Wyoming nodded, whistling appreciatively to himself. "And where is our precious Number One now?"

Carolina had reclaimed her number one status from York a while back, which had initially irritated Wyoming, but the longer he spent in her company, the more he realised that he would never be at her level. Sure, he was still one of the highest ranking agents in the project, but Carolina was far, far out of his league. However, he was starting to think he could live with that.

"She's outside, setting charges." Penn answered, waving away Wyoming's question before he could even ask it. "We were only unable to set off alarms until we had rescued you. Now, we can make all the noise we want, providing we don't allow ourselves to get shot."

"Do you think you'll be able to manage that?" Virginia asked him, sarcastically, and Penn seemed to glare at her from beneath his visor.

"Funny," he muttered, although his tone suggested that he thought it was anything but. "And – forgive me for asking – but, despite the fact that I was booted to the bottom of the leaderboard after I got shot – who is currently fourth on the leaderboard, and who is – what was it again – sixth?"

Virginia was now the one appearing to glare, and Wyoming was worried that he might have to step in if they were going to complete this mission, when Carolina's voice suddenly rang out over their radios.

"**Charges are set. Things are about to get loud. I'll make my own way out and we'll rendezvous at the LZ, sync?"**

"Sync!" the three of them replied, already moving out the door as the base suddenly shook, the ground trembling beneath them as several explosions suddenly rang out across the compound. The base was filled with the screams and wailing of a good dozen sim troopers, who all made their way to the source of the explosions, taking them away from the path the freelancers had to take in order to make it to the landing zone.

The agents burst out maze of corridors that surrounded the base, Wyoming quipping "Ah, that's why they called it Rat's Nest!" They hopped into their pelican, Wyoming receiving a frosty nod from their female pilot.

"Is Carolina on-board?" Penn yelled up to her, and growled angrily when he received a negative response.

Wyoming sighed, and cursed as he saw the other team suddenly burst out from their respective side, heading for their pelican. Penn snarled, and seemed prepared to jump out in order to hold them off, but suddenly a hand shot out and pushed him back, as Carolina calmly sprang up into the pelican. "Get us out of here!" she yelled at their pilot, making her way to the co-pilot seat.

Wyoming and Virginia shared a knowing look, both rolling their eyes beneath their visors. _Typical Carolina, _Wyoming mused. _Always leaving things to the last second._

The three agents sat down in their seats and pulled down their harnesses as the pelican's engines fired up and their pilot lifted off. Wyoming grinned at the other two, although of course they couldn't tell, and chuckled slightly to himself, pleased by their victory, and by the way the other two held themselves, he could tell they were too.

"So," he began, breaking the silence. "Anyone up for a knock-knock joke?"


	25. Chapter 24: Calm Before the Storm

**(A/N) Hey, sorry this one is going up a little late. Written by the fabulous anna1795, who, if you're anyway familiar with RvB fanfiction, you'll already be familiar with. If not, go check out her work, she's incredible! This chapter is from the eyes of Agent Virginia, and opens the way for some very action-packed chapters that will be following shortly. Watch this space!**

**Enjoy!**

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**Chapter Twenty-Four - Calm Before the Storm**

**Agent Virginia**

**Written by anna1795**

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_"By three methods we may learn wisdom: First, by reflection, which is noblest; Second, by imitation, which is easiest; and third by experience, which is the bitterest." _- Confucius

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To Virginia, the armour that she wore was for protection and security in combat situations. She wasn't like some of the other Freelancers who could be in their armour for days on end, it seemed like. The enclosed metal casing got to her after a few hours and made her feel twitchy. It was hot and dank in the armour, despite climate control systems that could be moderated. She much preferred the outfit that she had changed into for their night off; a set of black sweatpants, a black tank top, and a sweater tied around her waist. A set of weathered, fingerless black gloves adorned her hands as they swung loosely at her side on her way to the training room. York was having a party upstairs in the rec room, but she wasn't in the mood tonight.

"_Good evening, Agent Virginia,_" F.I.L.S.S.' voice crackled over the speaker above the rec room door as Virginia stood in front of it.

"Evening, F.I.L.S.S.," she responded politely. "May I please use the training room this evening?"

"_The training room is currently vacant, Agent, but I must discourage your use of the room. You are not dressed in the proper attire for the training programs that you prefer to use,"_the ship's AI said gently, like a parent speaking to their child. Virginia tugged open her locker beside the door and extricated a hard case from within.

"I'll be using a different program tonight, F.I.L.S.S.," Virginia responded as she went back to the door. "Just tangible targets and varying environment factors, please."

"_Please wait for confirmation…you have been cleared, Agent Virginia. Please be notified that this training session may be recorded to be placed in your file for future review._" The door opened to admit her, and Virginia sauntered into the empty room. The table of weapons popped up from the floor, but Virginia ignored them and opened the case she had brought in with her. Tenderly, she scooped up the black fiberglass equipment and set it up, the metallic-based string bringing the fiberglass to a smooth, swan-like curve. She felt along the fiberglass for cracks and nicks in the material, remembering some of the memories that came along with the pauses of the pads of her fingers on the bow.

"_Congratulations, sis! You'll be just like Hawkeye!_"

"_I'm not gonna be some super hero, Jennie. I'm just going to be a soldier._"

Slinging the quiver strap around her waist, she stood up straight and called out for F.I.L.S.S. to send in the targets.

"_Initiating training session in 3…2…1…round begin."_

Clay targets on poles started flying all around the room in random patters, criss-crossing with each other and speeding away just as quickly. Virginia notched an arrow into the bow string, found a target, and let the arrow fly. It struck the target a few inches from the centre and sent the clay flying from the top of the pole. Not satisfied, Virginia drew another arrow and set it into the weapon, pulling the string back as she found another target, and she let the arrow fly.

_"Agents, your performance on that last mission was quite satisfactory. Given your parameters, you utilized your unique abilities and executed the given task with proficient results," the Director droned as they stood at attention in a neat line in the briefing room._

_"Thank you, sir!" They parroted back. For some reason, the words tasted slightly bitter on Virginia's tongue._

_"Counsellor, if you will update the board," the bespectacled man nodded to the Counselor, who made a few notes on his electronic pad and looked up at the screen. They all turned their heads as one to see._

_Carolina_

_York_

_Pennsylvania_

_Wyoming_

_Virginia_

_Alaska_

_Massachusetts_

_Florida_

_They all stared at the results, and Virginia nodded her head slightly at the results. 5__th__place was not bad, not bad at all. She was making a name for herself, and she'd keep doing so. There were a few restless murmurs on either side of her, but nobody was actually saying anything too loudly. For the most part, they seemed satisfied…for now._

"_You are all dismissed," the Director said after a minute, "except for Virginia. I would like you speak with you for a moment." The other Freelancers filed out the door, with a few turning their visored heads to look back at Virginia. She could tell that Massa's and Florida's faces would have been concerned yet encouraging. Carolina's…jealousy, or would that have been a smirk?_

"_Agent Virginia, I trust that you remember that conversation that we had a small time ago," the Director paced back and forth in front of her._

"_Yes sir. I do remember," Virginia replied politely. The Director stopped in front of her._

"_You have been making progress and showing me what you are capable of, but this elevated rank is no reason for you to become lax in honing your abilities, Agent. You were brought here to push the boundaries of what you are capable of doing, and you've barely begun to scratch the surface."_

_Virginia felt her face grow warm under the helmet. What exactly was this man asking for? Still, best to play the part of the obedient soldier and avoid trouble. "I understand, sir."_

"_I would advise you to continue to hone some of your more…unique skills in your spare time. It will prove useful to your training and your missions."_

"_Yes, sir."_

"_One more thing, Agent." The Director reached over to a desk and withdrew a small letter from it. "I felt that I should be the one to give this to you." He handed the letter to her, and she took it gingerly. The scrawling cursive on the front was very familiar, a handwriting that she had known throughout all her life._

"_Thank you, sir," Virginia said gratefully, storing the letter for later._

"_You are dismissed, Agent," the Director granted her leave, and Virginia deliberately slowed her steps down to appear calm and collected as she left the room finally._

One of her arrows struck the wall as the ground under Virginia's feet shifted, and she cursed softly before adjusting her stance to accommodate for the pillars rising up from the floor. She pulled a sort of hopscotch move as she chased after a cluster of clay targets, drawing another arrow from her quiver.

"_Hey, Virginia!" Virginia whipped around to see Carolina approaching her from the other end of the locker room. The red haired woman was out of her armour already, dressed in a black t-shirt and a pair of jeans. Virginia kept taking off pieces of her armour carefully, storing them in her locker around the long, hard case that she had stored in there._

"_What?" she asked in a neutral tone. Carolina did not look happy. Then again, she never did._

"_What was the Director talking to you about?" Wow, straight to the point._

"_None of your business," Virginia replied, stashing her gauntlets next to her boots. Carolina apparently didn't like the answer, because her hand slammed into her locker door and it flew shut with a crash. The force of the impact had destabilized the shoddy shelves and sent Virginia's armor flying through the locker._

"_It's none of your business what I talk about with the Director, Carolina," Virginia snapped, staring evenly into Carolina's blazing green eyes. A piece of neon blue hair from her one highlight fell over her eyes, but she didn't care._

"_It does if it threatens how we work as a team-"_

"_If it really DID matter, Carolina, the Director would have told everyone, wouldn't he have?" Virginia growled, folding her arms. "If it was a threat to anything, he would've let the others know. However, it's nothing to concern you guys about. What happens between me and the Director stays that way unless he tells you for himself. You won't hear it from me."_

_Carolina didn't say anything. Her face was blank, but her eyes still seemed to burn holes in Virginia's face. Finally, she gave a shallow breath._

"_Just remember who's number one up on that leaderboard."_

"_Good for you. Don't remind me, I'm happy where I am."_

"_Good." With a tone of finality, Carolina whipped around and stalked off, leaving Virginia with the task of opening up her dented locker door._

Another two arrows embedded themselves in the wall. With a snarl, Virginia tore them out viciously and fired one at the last two targets zipping around the field. It struck them both at once, concluding the exercise.

"_You had an overall accuracy rate of 76%, Agent Virginia,_" F.I.L.S.S. dutifully reported.

"Run it again, F.I.L.S.S.," Virginia called up to the AI, picking up her arrows.

"No, F.I.L.S.S., you don't have to," another voice spoke from the training room door. Startled, Virginia got ready to let an arrow fly at the intruder, who threw up his hands at her reaction.

"Easy, easy," York pacified the agitated woman, walking into the room. Florida and Massa followed suit, carrying a couple bottles of beer and a large bag of popcorn.

"We saw you weren't up at the party," Massa explained. "Figured we'd stop by and invite you up."

"Thanks, but I don't think I could deal with that many people for right now," Virginia explained, sheathing her arrow in its quiver and setting the equipment aside.

"We figured you'd say that, so we brought the party to you, pal," Florida said cheerily, handing her a beer. Virginia took the bottle with a small smile. Florida's antics always seemed to cheer her up, and his smile was contagious.

"Guess there weren't many RSVPs," she joked, taking a small swig and leaning against one of the pillars that hadn't receded back into the floor.

"Al and Penn are busy doing…whatever they do, and Carolina is about to strangle Wyoming because of all his knock-knock jokes," York explained, sitting on the floor, the others followed suit, and Virginia finally settled down in a cross-legged position. There was a period of awkward silence.

"Nice archery there," Florida finally said after a while.

"Thanks," Virginia nodded her head. "Just practicing a bit. I haven't in a while. I usually have a higher accuracy rate. "

"That was only practicing?!" Massa asked incredulously. "It was amazing!" The others agreed loudly, and Virginia ducked her head.

"Where did you learn something like that?" York asked. "I didn't think that archery was something the military used anymore."

"They don't," Virginia agreed, then thought for a moment. "Or, rather, not really. You'll get your odd black ops or Green Beret groups that'll use that type of method, and that's WAY out in the Outer Colonies, where we don't see as much of the…action that you Inner guys get. Where I come from, the tech isn't as good, and we make do with what we have."

"So, you learned it in special ops?" York asked, his eyebrows rising in amazement.

"I didn't say that," Virginia smirked. "No, nothing so fancy. It's just an old family skill. I learned it from my aunt when she was taking me out of school on some days." She seemed lost in thought for a moment, her eyes getting misty.

"_You place your hands here and here, and you pull the string back…"_

"_I'm doing it, Auntie, I'm doing it!_"

She shook her head slightly, coming back from a trip down memory lane. "The point is, it's damn useful."

"Did your sister learn to shoot like you?" Massa asked. Virginia's head whipped around to stare at her roommate, who didn't meet her eyes. "I saw a picture of you and another person by your bed, and you left a letter on the mattress. I just thought…"

"It's fine, Massa," Virginia sighed, appeasing her well-meaning roommate. "No, she didn't. She learned other skills that work better for her. I just learned the quiet stuff, like my tracking and sabotage skills."

"You're just like Jazz," York said excitedly. Massa and Florida looked slightly confused, but Virginia actually seemed to know what he was talking about. "You know…that old cartoon show…The Transformers?"

"That's funny, I never had that nickname," Virginia chuckled. "My old unit called me Bluestreak because of my hair and spec ops skills." She fingered the neon blue streak in her hair.

"But what's your _actual_ name, then?" Florida asked. "Like, mine is Butch, everyone knows that."

"Man, you know the rules!" York complained, face palming. "We can't say what our names are. We've got new names now!"

Virginia watched the exchange and shared a glance with Massa. "I just never really share my name with anyone," she admitted finally. "I go by nicknames. Virginia is a nice one, and Bluestreak was fun. Kind of easy to shout during missions, actually."

At that moment, the lights in the training room began flashing, and alarms were blaring. They all stood up as one, looking around to see what was going on.

"You just HAD to say something, didn't you?" York asked Virginia jokingly, and she shrugged. F.I.L.S.S.' voice echoed across the loudspeakers.

"_All personnel, please report to stations and remain on standby. All Freelancer Agents, report to the bridge immediately._"

"Let's not keep the old man waiting," Massa pointed out, and they ran into the locker room off the training room, leaving their party supplies behind. They ran to their lockers and yanked them open, slipping into their black under armour. Massa and Virginia were helping each other strap into their armour when Carolina ran in, already in her gear.

"Hurry up, ladies," she barked, slipping her helmet on. "We haven't got all day."

"What's going on, Carolina?!" Massa shouted over the alarms. Carolina just shook her head and ran out again. The two women looked at each other before slipping on their own helmets and running after the aquamarine-armoured agent. The rest of the Freelancers joined the three women, all just in their armour (Wyoming was still trying to strap on his boots as he ran). Soldiers ran past them on the way to their stations, acting frantic and tense. They spared no passing glance at the Freelancers running for the Director, they all knew where they were needed.

Carolina couldn't punch in the code to access the bridge fast enough, and the door seemed to open agonizingly slowly. As soon as the crack was wide enough, they hustled inside and stood at attention as the Director leaned over the holographic table, examining a series of holograms. Very briefly, Virginia recognized the _Mother of Invention_ as one of the holograms. The Counselor remained in the shadows, and both their superiors' faces looked ashen.

"Agents, the Counselor is finalizing the specific details of the situation, which will be uploaded to your armour after briefing," the Director spoke distractedly as a few of the holograms flashed scarlet. The ship rocked, and they shuffled to keep their balance.

"Sir, what is going on?" Penn demanded as he tried to find his balance on the rocking ship, flailing his arms and almost colliding into the ever-calm Alaska. The Director didn't say anything for a moment, then spoke a word that weighed on them like a tonne of bricks.

"War."


	26. Chapter 25: War

**(A/N) Hey guys, it's that time of week again! Another Saturday, another update, and hear we finally a little insight into the antagonists of this fanfic, and a little bit of a nod towards the new authors that we have recruited, and I am incredibly excited for you to see what we have in store in regards to that. Anyway, without further ado, I reveal the latest Director chapter, written by myself, and hope you all enjoy it. This one is a bit of a game-changer for all concerned. Love to know what you all make of it! Next chapter will be on Monday, and will be quite, quite exceptional. Then again, Casaric's work always is.**

**Enjoy!**

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**Chapter Twenty-Five - War**

**The Director**

**Written by NicKenny**

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"_Older men declare war. But it is the youth that must fight and die." – _Herbert Hoover

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I sat at my table, flicking through my report to the UNSC High Command, anxiously waiting for their response. My requests were bold, for an essentially untried project, but I had hopes that my previous services to the UNSC would sway them. I flicked onto the page displaying the profiles of the eight individuals whom I had requested to join the project, all accomplished soldiers within the UNSC, each and every one of them exceptional, supplying something to the project that we still required. Some of them had skills that other agents within the project already excelled at: sniping, lock-picking, brute strength, infiltration, demolition etc., while others supplied something new. Each and every one of them would provide something that the project required, and I had firm hopes that the UNSC would grant us the use of their services.

I had made several other requests, some great and some small, but the most important ones were those concerning the allocation of new personnel, allowance to establish several new bases on Eris, access to a particular set of equipment that was currently in development from some area of the UNSC, which I believed had great potential when combined with our agent's suits, and…something that I had once created for the UNSC, and wanted them to give us access to, knowing full-well the advantages that such an asset would grant us.

The Counselor stood at the bridge's observation deck, occasionally glancing up from his data-pad to look out into the depths of space. He had also supplied a report, supporting my demands, although I had feared at one stage that he might refuse to do so. Luckily, Agent Pennsylvania had managed to refrain from killing or seriously injuring any more of our personnel, so his anger was satiated for the time being. Indeed, Pennsylvania had shone over the past few months, and as a result had steadily climbed up the leaderboard into third place.

I glanced over at it, remembering revealing the new ranks to our agents a few days previously. The majority of them had accepted their places with good grace, although I could see that Alaska was still unsatisfied with being in the bottom half. I had ordered Virginia to remain afterwards, passing on a letter to her, and informing her that while I was pleased with her progress, there was still room for improvement.

I briefly wondered how our new agents, if we were granted them, would match up to our current ones. I found it hard to believe that any would be able to match Carolina, the sniping abilities of Wyoming, the infiltration skills of York and Virginia…

As for the brute strength of Pennsylvania, once, I would have thought that he had no match, but recently, after viewing the files of one of the men I hoped to recruit, I'm no longer so sure. That should be interesting, I mused, distracted in my speculation of the future.

I was snapped out of my trance by a soft cough from the Counselor, who had walked over to the table, unnoticed by me until now due to my lapse in concentration, a grave but slightly confused look on his face.

"Director, we have received a transmission from HIGHCOM," he murmured slowly, his eyes locked on mine. "General Petrarch wishes to speak to you, regarding a matter of great importance that he would not divulge to me."

I nodded eagerly, presuming that the General was messaging me solely due to my report and the requests I had made. It was only when his transmission was patched through, and I saw the grave look on his face, his grey eyes burning with a barely withheld fury, that I began to understand that the cause behind this transmission was something much more serious. The Counselor grudgingly exited the room after I ordered him to, clearly unhappy with being kept out of the loop.

"General," I began, smiling warmly. "I wasn't expecting such a speedy reply to my report. I do hope you and the rest of High Command have seen it fit to grant me my few, meagre requests."

The General merely frowned, shaking his head slowly. "We have received your report, Director Church, but that is not the sole reason behind this call, though I'll address your requests in a moment."

He paused and took a breath, glancing at a figure behind the camera, out of my field of vision, and raised his eyebrows, clearly signalling for that person to depart. After a few seconds his eyes refocused on mine, and, with a small sigh, he began speaking once more.

"Three days ago, Insurrectionists on the Outer-colony planet designated 'Haven' launched a full out assault on UNSC troops stationed there at the time, managing to push the main bulk of our men back into the capitol city of New Delphi. At the same time, using ships that had either been constructed from previously abandoned, crashed ships or constructed in secret using plans that they had obtained from one of our manufacturing facilities, the Insurrectionists established a blockade of the capitol, preventing us from getting either military or humanitarian aid to our troops. We only have minimal forces in the area to send in an attempt to liberate our men trapped down on that viper's nest, and we have no method of getting them onto the planet before our soldiers on the ground are over-run."

He paused again and took another deep breath, frowning heavily, the bags under his eyes becoming even more prominent at this angle. "That's where you come in."

I frowned, confused. "I'm sorry, General, but that sounded rather like an order, and I don't believe that you have the authority to give those. Project Freelancer was established as a military organisation affiliated to, but ultimately separated from, any other branch of the UNSC. The only orders that I am required to follow are those issued by the UNSC Security Committee."

The General's frown grew even more pronounced, and he spat out his next few sentences. "I am well aware of the status of you project, Director, believe me. And while, yes, I cannot give you orders, I can make requests. Just as you have made requests to us."

I leant back in my chair, suddenly aware of where this was going. "So, in return for the co-operation of my project, you will grant my requests?"

Petrarch sighed, holding his left hand to his brow. "We will grant you your requests for an increase in personnel, including doubling your number of agents. We will also agree to the establishment of five new simulation bases on Eris, but I have to express my doubts on whether a project such as yours truly has need for the number of bases that yours is currently running. Your other two requests, supplying your project with equipment that is still currently in development, and…the other matter, will remain under review for the time being, but I will put in a personal recommendation that you are given access to these assets."

I steepled my fingers, not entirely appeased by the General's offering, but…it was tempting. The added personnel in personnel in particular would be a bonus, particularly the new agents. I would have use for them, if the UNSC wanted to use us to combat Insurrectionists in the future. Although, of course, they were not the true enemy. They were not the enemies that Project Freelancer had been created to fight.

But one day, the Covenant would discover who we were. And on that day, they would bleed.

"I accept you request, General," I announced slowly, maintaining eye-contact. "But if you intend on using us against the Insurrection in the future, I will need access to those further requests. However, for now, I am satisfied with your offer. What do you need of Project Freelancer?"

Petrarch nodded, evidently relieved that I had agreed to his terms. I felt a sudden stab of regret, as I realised that they were evidently in more trouble than he had let on, and would probably have given in if I had dug in my heels. However, that opportunity had passed me by, so I dismissed my feelings of regret and paid attention as the General explained exactly what they needed my project to do, interjecting only here and there, when I had suggestions for how exactly we could accomplish these goals.

When we finished finalising plans for the mission the transmission ended, and I asked F.I.L.S.S. to summon the Counselor, who must have been waiting just outside the observation deck this entire time, as he strode through the doors within seconds.

"Can I ask what the transmission was about, Director?" he began before even giving me a chance to speak.

I rolled my eyes in mock-frustration and gave him a tight-lipped smile. "The good General had a few requests of his own to make, in return for granting some of ours."

The Counselor stared at me, waiting for me to inform him as to what exactly these requests entailed, but I just stared at him blankly, unspeaking.

"And these requests were?"

I smiled absentmindedly, standing up and walking past him over to the control panel. "He wants Project Freelancer to join the good fight against the Insurrection. He wants us to go to war."

While the Counselor struggled with this new information, I ordered F.I.L.S.S. to inform the agents that their presence was required in the bridge immediately, and to order personnel to their stations. After that I punched in the co-ordinates that the General had given me, and the ship lurched, beginning its journey to Haven."The General and I have made the necessary plans. He's asked us to liberate the currently besieged city of New Delphi on Harvest. Apparently we are the only UNSC forces near enough to support the small force he has assembled to reclaim the city from the Insurrectionists."

The Counselor nodded, his face twisting briefly as his mind swiftly digested these details and he began to hurriedly work on his data-pad, his fingers flying as he pulled up information beneficial to the mission. I walked over to the holographic table, summoning up images of Haven, New Delphi, the Insurrectionist blockade of the city, a UNSC Paris-class frigate and the _Mother of Invention_ herself.

I was staring at these, my mind sorting through the plan that myself and the General had agreed upon, when the agents made their way into the room, quickly making their way to the table and standing at attention as I stared at them, my face locked in an image of utter seriousness.

"Agents, the Counsellor is finalizing the specific details of the situation, which will be uploaded to your armour after briefing," I began, as several of the images flashed scarlet, due to the ship diverting power in order to open up a rift into slipspace.

The ship rocked as the Shaw-Fujikawa Translight Engine opened a hole into slipspace, the first time we had utilised the MOI's engine. Several of the agents staggered unsteadily, with Agent Pennsylvania almost colliding with Alaska, asking "Sir, what is going on?" as he struggled to regain his balance.

I looked at the assembled agents for a moment, wondering how exactly to answer that question. In the end, I opted for simple honesty. "War."

I could see the implications of one simple word settling over the agents, and some part of me almost felt sorry for destroying their brief chapter of innocence. However, these emotions quickly passed, and I glanced over to the Counselor, who indicated that the files had been successfully uploaded, so I began the briefing, the images for Haven, New Delphi and the Insurrectionist blockade expanding above the table as I mentioned them.

"Three days ago, the capitol city of the Outer-Colony planter Haven, New Delphi, was besieged by Insurrectionist forces known as the Unified Revolutionary Front. We have been asked by the UNSC to assist their forces in liberating the city. The main problem that we face is that the city has been placed under a blockade by a fleet of Insurrectionist ships, so getting aid down to the UNSC in the city will be difficult."

I took a deep breathe, carrying on, despite the fact that several of the agents appeared to have questions, pulling up the images of both the MOI and the other UNSC vessel. "The _Mother of Invention _will be aided by the Paris-class frigate _Soul of Tranquillity _inbreaking the blockade. While we combat the Insurrection in space, you will be taken down by two pelicans to the planet's surface, using the battle as a distraction in order to slip past the blockade. You will have two objectives: Rendezvousing with UNSC forces in New Delphi and aiding them in the defence of the city, and tracking down and assassinating the Insurrectionist leader heading the assault."

Agent Carolina took this moment to speak, immediately taking control of the situation. "So we'll need two teams."

A statement, not a question.

I nodded, pulling back up the holographic image of the city. "Two Teams. Team A will consist of Carolina, York, Massachusetts, Florida and Virginia, with Team B consisting of Pennsylvania, Alaska and Wyoming. Team A's mission will concern the defence of the city, while Team B will perform the assassination."

I paused, staring at the collected agents, weighing them up in my mind. "Agent Carolina and Pennsylvania will lead their respective teams."

I could see the Counselor glance at me from the corner of my eye, clearly not satisfied with Penn's assignment as the leader of Team B, but I ignored him, concentrating on the image of the city before me. I couldn't help but notice the smug look that Penn shot Alaska, but I quelled the urge to reprimand him. Carolina took the announcement with a quiet confidence, no more than I would expect of her. "From the reports we have received, the local UNSC commander, Colonel Eric Grant, has established a base of operations here, in the heart of the city." Some parts of the city suddenly turned red, and some turned orange, but the vast majority remained a pure blue. "The red areas have been seized by the Insurrection, while the blue areas represent those still in control of the UNSC. The orange areas are currently being disputed by both parties."

Virginia spoke up, her eyes locked on mine. "So we're supposed to report to this Colonel Grant for orders?"

I shook my head slowly. "No," I replied, "Agent Carolina has been authorised to take control of the city's defence from him. You have been cleared as Level Zero, the ultimate level of clearance a soldier can receive. Project Freelancer will be running the defence from the ground, not the UNSC. We need you to organise the defences in order to hold out until we have eradicated their blockade, and Team B had time to locate and remove the Insurrectionist leader. At that point we will land personnel, along with military forces from the _Soul of Tranquillity,_ in the heart of the city, who will assist in routing the Insurrection."

The agents paused for a moment as they digested the information I had just presented to them. Eventually, Pennsylvania raised a hand. "How are we supposed to discover the name and whereabouts of their leader?" delicately skirting around the real question.

"Using whatever measures that you see fit, Pennsylvania. Whatever you need to do."

"Understood, sir," he murmured, and I had no doubt that he did, noticing Alaska's suddenly face light up next to him as the full meaning of my words suddenly became clear to him. I almost felt bad for this Insurrectionist, whoever he was, now that I had set Pennsylvania, Alaska and Wyoming on his tail.

"Then get to it, agents," I said, nodding to the doors behind them. "Good luck to you all."

_Teach them to fear the name Project Freelancer._


	27. Chapter 26: First Contact

**(A/N) Hey guys! Time for our Monday update, brought to you by both me and Casaric! (I know, a collaborated chapter within a collaboration? Crazy!) Anyway hope you guys enjoy this! It was great fun to write and I hope you all enjoy reading it! Thanks to all those who have reviewed our previous chapters, it means a lot to us, hearing your thoughts on our little collab. It's much appreciated! Next update, as always will be Wednesday, where we get to see what's been going on with the agents on Haven! **

**Anyways, enjoy!**

**Chapter Twenty-Six - First Contact**

**The Director & ****Killian Jay – Private First Class, Medic**

**Written by NicKenny & Casaric**

* * *

_"War does not determine who is right- only who is left."_ - Bertrand Russell

* * *

The monitor flickered, and a dark haired, middle-aged man in full officer's uniform appeared in front of me. "This is Captain Vasquez of the UNSC frigate _Soul of Tranquility_," he said, staring at me with a look of irritation. "I assume that I am talking to Director Leonard Church of Project Freelancer?"

I nodded, smiling slightly. "You're assumption is correct, Captain. It's a pleasure to be joining you today."

The Captain looked at me blankly. "All I've been told is that we've got to cause enough of a ruckus to distract these Innies and get your boys onto the planet's surface. After that my orders become rather vague. Care to shed some light on the situation?"

I raised a hand and slowly took of my glasses, absentmindedly wiping them off my suit's sleeve. "Of course, Captain. Once my 'boys' have landed safely, we are to destroy any and all Insurrectionist ships still in orbit. After that we are to land whatever soldiers we can spare on the planet to support the UNSC forces currently besieged."

Vasquez nodded slowly, a grim look descending over his features. "Then I guess we had better get this party started," he remarked darkly, and the monitor went blank once more.

* * *

Killian Jay's occupation often calls for him to access things. Severity of wounds, levels of sanity, levels of stupidity, etc. Killian is currently accessing the blow to the side of the head he received via "ship-quake"... Attempting medicinal practices while your ship is under fire is a hell of a lot harder than it sounds.

Not counting the time it took getting over the blow to the head he received, Killian needed over half-an-hour to get a clean cut into his current patient, successfully removing the afflicted section of tissue. Plasma burns never heal right, so it was best to cut away the affected area before it started to scar.

"Now then, where's that g- oomf!" Killian was unfortunately interrupted by a very mobile equipment rack. To his knowledge, the _Mother of Invention_ is the only UNSC ship that offers Hazard pay to medics that aren't in the line of fire.

"However thought it was a good idea to put wheels on all of the heavy objects in this room...," Killian muttered, heaving the rack away from him, and sending it rattling across the room. "was a jackass."

* * *

"F.I.L.S.S. how are our shields holding up?" I asked sharply as the floor shook beneath me after a barrage of missiles crashed into our starboard side. I gazed out from the observation deck, looking in disgust upon the dozens of patchwork crafts the Insurrectionists had formed their blockade from. Already the _Soul of Tranquility _had torn its way through the heart of the fleet, and the _Mother of Invention _was following in its wake, our cannons booming every so often as another Insurrectionist ship got within range.

"Shields are at eighty-three per cent, Director," she replied instantly, her voice as cheerful as ever.

"Excellent. Please keep me informed of our shields functionality at every tenth per cent, if you would be so kind."

* * *

Killian spent hours moving from patient to patient, and it slowly became a haze of blood and Bio-foam. The whole process was almost habitual.

Killian might have taken a moment to contemplate on whether this was to be seen as fantastic or highly disturbing, if the amount of people requiring "treatment", didn't continue to climb at such an alarming rate. There were only so many medical staff on hand on board the MOI during an actual battle. While most stayed behind to deal with some of the more grievous wounds, others were sent out into the field to handle the other injuries.

Instead, he contemplated on the fact that there were a lot of hurt people in the room. This made Killian feel restless about his current situation. They were winning...right?

* * *

"Shields at fifty-four per cent. I would also like to inform you that both teams have reached their locations and have exited their pelicans. Team B's pilot is making her way back into the city as we speak."

"Thank you F.I.L.S.S. Please inform Captain Vasquez that he has the go-ahead to cut up what's left of them," I replied, smiling as I leant back and surveyed the destruction that lay before me. A stray thought suddenly burst into my mind.

"F.I.L.S.S., can you get a lock onto any of their ships? I mean to test out our…main cannon."

F.I.L.S.S. was silent for a moment, then something in the control platform beeped and she replied: "Target locked, Insurrectionist frigate four thousand yards ahead."

There was another slight pause, accompanied by another beep and F.I.L.S.S. spoke once more, her voice containing a touch of satisfaction. "Firing main cannon."

* * *

"...He's gone. Get him out of the operating room."

Killian tried not to look at the corpse. Another failure. Another life lost to their mistakes. ...Killian was pretty sure that he was going to have nightmares long after this was over.

* * *

The Counselor gaped as the beam tore through the heart of the frigate, piercing its port side and continuing right through to the other. The ship seemed to collapse into a series of explosions after that, each more violent than the next, until all that was left was metal debris floating through space.

"Target eliminated," F.I.L.S.S. declared, and the smugness could easily be detected in her tone.

I looked out onto what was left of the Innies' fleet and smiled grimly.

_It wouldn't be long now._

* * *

When he was finally pulled from the operating room, Killian wasn't sure if he felt relieved or scared. Everyone in there had been working for a while, on a lot of patients. Tired doctors leads to sloppy surgeries.

Maybe now they'll listen to his overtime complaints.

* * *

"Three enemy ships remaining," F.I.L.S.S. intoned, answering my unasked question.

"Do you want them, or should we deal with them?" Vasquez asked tiredly across the comm-link. He had opened up transmissions again a short while ago, informing us that he had received orders to stand back and allow the MOI to wreak some damage towards the Insurrectionists fleet. We had stepped up to the challenge, our MAC firing again and again, leaving the opposing fleet a collection of burned out metal husks.

Obviously the UNSC wanted to see what we could do. Well, we were up to the challenge, but I was more concerned with my agents down on the ground than a measly few ships.

"You can have them, Captain. Consider it a gift from Project Freelancer. Now I have to check up upon my agents. Hopefully their missions will have gone as satisfactorily as ours."

* * *

"...So that's what war looks like..." Killian muttered, staring through one of the ship's windows, eyes locked onto the planet below. He could see New Delphi burning.

Killian sighed, turning away and continuing to walk down the hall. There would be time to bury the dead later, for now he had a casualty report to deliver.


	28. Chapter 27: Take No Bullshit

**(A/N) Aaaaaaaannnnndddd it's time for our Wednesday update! Things are about to get real for the Freelancers, as they finally get a taste of what war is like for Project Freelancer. Just want to thank all of our readers, as this 'fic has just hit over 5,000 views, which, you know, is pretty cool. Thanks you guys! This chapter is brought to you by the wonderful ParabolaOfMystery, and depicts everyone's favourite red-headed freelancer. Next update will be on Saturday, and I wonder who's point-of-view it will be from?**

**Here's a clue: In the Simpsons episode where Marge faces her fear of planes, it was referred to as one of the freak states. ;)**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Seven - Take No Bullshit**

**Agent Carolina**

**Written by ParabolaOfMystery**

* * *

_"Leadership is the other side of the coin of loneliness, and he who is a leader must always act alone. And acting alone, accept everything alone." – __Ferdinand Marcos_

* * *

_Just another mission. Don't screw it up this time. _

Carolina ignored the nervous lump in her throat and repeated her little mantra in her head, over and over. She couldn't afford to bomb this mission (unless it required actual bombing, of course.) It had to go over seamlessly, with no injuries or mistakes, not even scratched armour. She could pull it off. She had a flawless team (well, mostly) and the abilities herself to do it.

Then why was she so nervous?

"Dammit, look at those trees," 479er mumbled, gazing at the ground below. "Thank god I actually get to land in the city this time. Those trees would be such a pain in the ass."

The ground was entirely green; dense forest blanketed the area like some massive fuzzy carpet. Up ahead Carolina could see the start of New Delphi. She saw an orange glow coming from some of the outer edges, topped with a haze of black smoke. There were other fires inside the city itself, as if the Innies were sending out smoke signals to everyone outside: _This is our city now. Get out while you still can._

"Landing time, guys. Put on your seatbelts in case I decide to go all kamikaze. Maybe then you'll have a chance of living." Carolina stared at the pilot, but 479er only laughed. "Just kidding. But seriously, put on your seatbelt. It's not going to be a fun landing." She glanced at the dashboard. "Oops. That's not good."

"What?"

"Incoming missile. Damn Innies. Hold on." 479er yanked the controls; the Pelican twisted sharply to the side, and Carolina was shaken in her seat from what seemed to be a massive explosion.

"Are we hit?!" Carolina yelled over the noise, hands clenched to her armrests. Her stomach swooped as the Pelican fell sharply. There was a heavy thud behind her and what sounded like a grunt from York. ("I'm okay!")

"Of course not, shot it down before that could happen! What do you think this is, amateur hour?"

* * *

The Pelican landed on the UNSC building with a thud that rattled Carolina's brains. Her group-Florida, Virginia, Massa, Florida, and York - were met by the New Delphi UNSC officers on the rooftop. One of them stepped forward - Colonel Eric Grant, as she recognized him from her briefings- stepped forward. "Which one of you is in charge?" he asked loudly, over the roar of the Pelican. He was in full-uniform, and looked exhausted; there were bags under his eyes, his dark hair was peppered with gray, and his uniform was wrinkled, as if it hadn't been cleaned in several days.

Carolina stepped forward, took off her helmet and stuck out her hand. Her red hair whipped in her face. "I am. Agent Carolina, of Project Freelancer. This is my team. Agents Florida, Virginia, Massachusetts, and York."

_Calm. In charge. Take no bullshit._

His eyes scanned over them all. Carolina couldn't help but note his reluctance in meeting them. "Very well. Follow me." He led them inside the UNSC headquarters, where they were met with chaos. There were people running around everywhere, talking into headsets or looking at maps or barking orders at other people. Carolina couldn't help but think that it was sharply different from the Freelancer facility, and felt a small bit of pride. "I apologize for the disorganization. We are usually very organized, but, given the current circumstances, we are somewhat stressed." He stopped outside a room. "This is an officers meeting. We would prefer to have only one of you in our discussion, rather than a whole group of mercenaries."

York cleared his throat. "Freelancers, sir. Totally different." Carolina turned and gave him a death glare, and he stared at the floor. _Not the time, York._

"Understood, Colonel. My team will wait outside," she agreed, turning to address her fellow Freelancers. "Try not to break anything," she said, staring at York. York smiled and raised his eyebrows.

The conference room was a long room with an equally long table. Carolina couldn't help but notice Colonel Grant had seated her at the very end. She looked down the table. _These guys look more like politicians. Not the military._

A cross-looking woman with a hooked nose glared at her. "Who is this?"

Carolina glanced over at Colonel Grant, who had taken his place at the head of the table. He nodded, giving her permission to speak. She took a small breath and began in a clear, even voice. "I am Agent Carolina of Project Freelancer. I am requesting, on behalf of our Project and for the good of New Delphi and the UNSC, to take defensive control of New Delphi."

She bit her tongue as the officers around her tittered. _Calm. In charge. Take no bullshit. Just another mission. Don't mess this up._

"What makes you think that you can do a better job than the UNSC?" The woman with the hooked nose asked.

"Project Freelancer has superior soldiers than the UNSC. Along with superior strategic intelligence, if I may." _And better organization, and equipment, and everything else in general._

"Even if you have better soldiers and strategy, what gives you the authority?" A balding man peered at her behind thin wire glasses. "You're a Freelancer. That doesn't really seem like a legitimate military rank. What clearance do you even have?"

"She has the authority," Colonel Grant said quietly. He seemed reluctant to say it.

The woman with the hooked nose folded her hands together. "Prove it."

"She's Level Zero."

The balding man scoffed. "Level Zero? This must be some kind of joke."

Colonel Grant sighed. "Look outside. Does this seem like a time to be joking to you?"

The table fell silent.

"Now that that's settled," Colonel Grant said, shuffling through papers on the table, "does anyone wish to give her the current status of the city?"

"The entire population- military included- is running extremely low on supplies: food, water, weapons, et cetera," a younger officer, with stubble on his face, explained, also shuffling through papers. "UNSC forces have suffered heavy casualties and are mostly pushed back into the centre of the city, with exceptions to a few areas. Three to be exact."

"Which areas?" Carolina asked.

"The Business District, Centre Park, and one of the southern neighbourhoods."

Carolina bit her lip, thinking. She hadn't been learning military strategy since she was six for nothing. This wasn't even a difficult decision. "Give them up, and have those forces join us here."

Colonel Grant narrowed his eyes, suddenly hostile. "And risk being entirely surrounded by the Insurrection?"

"Yes. We are already almost entirely surrounded, if you haven't noticed. A couple areas here and there won't do much good if the heart of the city falls."

"It would give them three victories," Grant spat. "Victories would strengthen them. Give them hope. I am not giving up anything to those goddamn Innies."

Carolina swallowed, willing her voice to stay even. "Give them false hope, then. Either way, those areas are going to be taken over by the Insurrection. Would you rather have the final move there, or let them have it?"

Colonel Grant, glared at her for a moment longer then looked away, looking exhausted. "Go on."

Carolina continued. "With extra force _here_ in the middle, we need to build up barricades, made out of anything available. Furniture, rubble, et cetera. If possible, we should try and get civilian help with the barricades instead of soldiers. The barricades should slow them down, give us more time. We also need to be fighting a defensive battle now; an offensive battle will only weaken us more. We have to put people in high places, get a higher ground. Turrets, snipers, whatever is needed."

The Colonel had been listening intently as she spoke. "Very well. I will make that happen. And what will you and your Freelancers be doing?"

Carolina couldn't help but smile a tiny bit. "Oh, you'll see."

_You'll see._


	29. Chapter 28: Broken Will

**(A/N) Back again with another Saturday update! This chapter is going up a **_**little **_**earlier than usual, as I'll be heading out to a 21****st**** so have no other option. This time we're following Team B through the jungles of Haven, and they're looking for something very specific. Or someone, to be more precise. This chapter brings us back to the oh-so-warped mind of everyone's favourite freelancer psychopath, Agent Alaska, written, as always, by the incredible Avalanche Wolf. Our next update, on Monday, will be another chapter from the master of "smooth jazz". **

**Once again, thanks to all our readers, and all those who take the time to review, or indeed, favourite or follow this story or account. Believe me, it means a lot to us. **

**As always, enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Eight - Broken Will**

**Agent Alaska**

**Written by Avalanche Wolf**

* * *

"_There are some ideas so wrong that only a very intelligent person could believe in them." –_George Orwell

* * *

"You have to be kidding me! You can't let _him_ do it."

Pennsylvania was yelling his outrage to the Director. Alaska looked over at the small building they had found in the jungles of Haven. Haven was a joke. Nothing was safe from anyone. Haven especially. Ever since they landed, Alaska hated the damn planet. Must have been all the trees. Yeah, definitely trees. Given a couple years and lots of men and equipment, the whole planet could be stripped bare of it all. Maybe he could sell them all. Make a nice little fortune.

He looked from the building and saw Wyoming keeping an over watch on the area. The place was crawling with Insurrectionists, the training was gone.

This was the real deal.

Alaska glanced back at three men who were bound, grouped together. They were Innies, captured by the freelancers about an hour ago. Looked like they were just a small patrol group. Alaska dealt with this before. Minimum of three men patrol squad. Small numbers to keep valuable information limited. Not hard to get good information out of them, just had to put the right amount of pressure. Then they would crack and all that sweet information would pour out like honey.

His thoughts were taken back when Penn walked over to him. "The Director wants you to interrogate the prisoners. Find out what they know, and report back. Don't take too long, Alaska."

Behind his helmet, Alaska was smiling. He was going to be using his skills again. His special touch. He could get a man with no arms to admit he shot someone. A good day. Yes, a very good day indeed. But enough remembering, he had men to question.

Alaska walked into the building and to a separate room. It wasn't grandly decorated, but leaned towards the sparser option on the scale. A table with a couple chairs. Just the way he liked it.

He walked out of the room and grabbed one of the men, pulling them along with him, into the room. He set them down into the chair and walked around for a bit. He reached up and took off his helmet, setting it on the table. He pulled out the other chair and sat down, folding his hands together and smiling at the man, his blue eyes almost shining.

"Hello. My name is Alaska. I will be the one interrogating you today. Let's start off with something simple shall we? What is your name?"

The man practically spat in his face. "Fuck you, UNSC pig!"

The man wanted Alaska angry, but he only smiled. "My, that's cute. Defiance. It's what makes you strong. Like this table."

He stood up and walked around to the man, his hand tracing along the table. "However, I am not one for steel. Metal is so cold, and lifeless. Wood is much better, if you ask me. It has a certain...feel to it. It breaths and is shaped by mere hands. Plus, it makes it easier on you."

In one motion, Alaska grabbed the man's head and slammed it into the table, fairly hard. Maybe a little too hard. The man sat up straight, looking down at the new dent in the table where his face was smashed. Alaska leaned down and looked at it.

"See?"

He walked back to his seat. "Now if it were wood, it would have simply shattered. Sparing you some of the pain, but now see what you have done? You made me damage this very nice table. But, let's get back to the question at hand. Who are you?"

Once again, the man held strong to his will. "Rot in hell."

Alaska sighed. "It's such a shame, those friends of yours. They counted on you, and you're failing them. All I need do is talk to my friends out there, and your fellow soldiers will die."

The man glared. "I don't care. We will die for our cause. We will defeat you. We don't need to descend to the level of the UNSC."

Alaska sighed and walked behind him. He reached down and removed the restraints. "Very well. You're free to go."

He walked back to his chair and sat down, holding a small piece of paper in his hand. "You won't talk, so, you may leave."

He looked at the paper and laughed slightly as the man stood up. Alaska looked up and showed him. It was a picture of a young woman and small child. Both were smiling happily, with no care in the world.

"Is this your family? Your wife, she is very lovely. And your daughter, an angel. Very beautiful."

The man leaned over the table towards Alaska. "If you hurt them..."

Alaska looked up. "Me? No, no. I won't hurt them, so long as you give me the information I need. If not, well, you may walk out. Nothing wrong with that. I could just simply go to your home on the corner of North Mountain and Stallion. Such a lovely little place. I could break into your home at night using your own security code. Fairly simple, four zero nine four five, your daughter's birthday. I will walk in, up the seventeen steps of your stairs, take a left at the top to the room at the end of the hall. Your room, I am sure. I will go in where your wife sleeps, put my pistol to her head and pull the trigger, spraying blood all over, ruining the brand new silk sheets she bought, which would be a waste. Then I will walk down to the other end of the hall and to your daughter's room. I will wake her up and tell her she is going to see mommy. Then I will put my hand around her tiny neck, and squeeze, and squeeze, and squeeze, and squeeze until the lovely little fire in her eyes disappears."

Alaska looked up at the man who was now sitting down. He stood up and walked past him, placing the photo down in front of him. "Enjoy your choice."

Alaska was almost to the door when the man spoke. "Corporal Jacob Leroy Grayson. That's...my name."

Alaska turned around smiling. "Progress, very good. Now let's keep going Jacob. You are with the Insurrectionists, correct?"

"Yes. Former UNSC Marine."

"I see. What are you doing out here?"

"Patrol. Guarding the outer limits of the capitol for threats."

"Who is the leader of the Insurrectionists?"

"I...I don't know. I...I only know of Colonel Allen. He is based at the capitol building at the east side of the city."

"He's not the leader? That's what I want to know."

Jacob looked up. "I don't know. I just know Colonel Allen is in charge of the local area. He's guarded by a battalion. Two guards outside the presidential office with at least three more men on the inside. Random patrols through the halls and guards all around the building. Snipers on the roof. I...I went there once."

"I see. Thank you Jacob. This information will be quite useful." Alaska stood up and put his helmet on.

"Don't worry Jacob, your family will be alright. I won't hurt them. In fact, I will do you a favour." He pulled out his pistol and shot him three times. "I will make sure they can recognize you at your funeral should your body be found."

Alaska put his pistol away and pulled the body off the chair and into the corner. He walked out of the building and grabbed another prisoner, taking them in and putting them in the chair. He once again took off his helmet and set it on the table. He sat down and smiled.

"My name is Alaska. I will be the one interrogating you today. Let's start off with something simple, shall we? What is your name?"


	30. Chapter 29: No Turning Back

**(A/N) It's Monday, and that means you guys get another healthy dose of Project Freelancer. It's also International Mother Earth Day, but I think our update takes precedence. Sorry Earth. We still love you! With my exams coming up soon, there might be a few odd fluctuations in our stream of updates, but I'll do everything I can to prevent that from happening. Hope life's going well for all our readers, and hope you'll all keep until our Wednesday update. It'll bring to an end our third batch of chapters, and you guys know who'll be coming in over the course of our fourth batch!**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Nine – No Turning Back**

**Agent New York**

**Written by Maple Alycia Hood**

* * *

"_The defence of New Delphi was our first real mission against the Insurrectionists. Despite previous... setbacks involving our teamwork, we managed to successfully hold the city and also achieve our main objective of taking out Colonel James Allen, the Insurrectionist Leader of that time. But on the planet itself, holding off the ground forces, it was the first time for many other things too. Chief on the list... Well..._

_It was the first time Agent New York had to kill someone. At first I didn't think he could do it. I'm glad I had faith in him, otherwise... as much as I hate to admit it... I wouldn't be here right now."_ – Log Entries of Agent Carolina, post Project Freelancer.

* * *

"Carolina!"

York could barely see anyone amidst the crowd of UNSC soldiers that they were currently working with. Gunfire and explosions ran clear in his ears, and he was pretty sure he couldn't hear himself, never mind hoping that Carolina would be able to hear him. So he would have to do things the old fashioned way – on foot. He leaped over numerous barricades, occasionally stopping to help a wounded soldier get to his feet and head off, or be helped off, back to the interior of the base they were guarding, in which Massachusetts was using her medical skills to see what she could do to help.

Despite looking everywhere in the mass of grey, green and silver, there was no sign of the familiar aqua blue armour that belonged to their current leader. Most likely she was at the front of the line, pounding some Innies back so Team B had chance to do their job without too much interference. Nothing bad had come through the comm. link yet, so he could assume that all was going well.

For now.

York was caught off guard, though, by a pair of armoured rebels that had flanked the defence and tried to attack from the side. A fist met the side of his head and he was sent flying sideways, landing with a grunt. He just about staggered onto his feet, holding up his own hands to fight back, but with one of the Innies holding two magnums and the other holding a shotgun, things didn't look so good.

That was, until a sniper round went through the head of the shotgun holding Insurrectionist. His startled companion made to retreat, only to meet the barrel of Florida's shotgun, a loud _boom_ silencing any plea that he might have made. The tan armoured Freelancer breathed out a sigh of relief, nodding briefly to his comrade and giving a mock salute to Virginia, who stood on the edge of one of the tall buildings nearby.

"Any of you two seen Carolina?" he asked over their private comm. links so that they could both hear him.

**"****She's up front helping Colonel Grant keep the Innies at bay,****"** Virginia responded, to which York gave a thankful wave and set off again, Florida close behind him. He was glad for the support, to say the least.

"You heard news about Team B?" he asked the blue Freelancer as soon as his tomahawk had stopped being embedded into the chest of an Insurrectionist scout and the two of them could move on again.

"Not so far, I'm afraid," Florida answered. "The comms aren't exactly noisy as of late. Just the occasional update from F.I.L.S.S."

"Seems like the Director doesn't really wanna get too involved." York remarked quietly. No doubt the man in charge was listening, but he could always pass it off as a harmless statement. War could make a man say stupid things, after all. Although, to be fair, he probably wouldn't get away with that.

Up ahead was the sign he'd been looking for. A brief flicker of aqua armour told him that Carolina wasn't too far ahead. Neither he nor Florida hesitated in joining her fight – surrounded by God knew how many Insurrectionists wasn't the best fate for one sole person. Besides, they were meant to be working as a team now, right? That was the whole point of their previous training exercises.

"I thought I told you to watch the back way?" his female teammate demanded as they came back to back, hitting anyone that came close.

"I was," he grunted back as he landed a kick to a rebel's chest. "But it got kinda quiet and I thought you might be lonely up here."

If she found that statement funny, she didn't make any sort of hint towards it. Nor did she snap at him, playfully or otherwise. Then again, she wasn't exactly paying attention right now. The crowd of Innies began to thin out, but they stuck close just in case. Florida had made their back to back into a triangle, then a line, as they began to push back the onslaught.

But neither man saw it coming. From the side of their blockade a lone scout lashed out and knocked Carolina to the ground. The two wrestled to try and pin one another, and the scout came out on top, a magnum in his hand, desperately trying to get the aim straight against the redhead's strong grip.

"York! A little help here!" she called to him, and York turned, aiming his shotgun.

He hesitated though, despite having been sure that all doubts had gone from his mind. This... this was still a person, right? With a life. With feelings and thoughts. With a family, perhaps? He didn't know this scout. None of them did. Did anonymity make the killings they committed any more right?

Were they honestly doing the right thing now?

"_York!_"

As much as he hated to have the words circulate around his head, the fact remained clear – he valued Carolina's life over this scout's. With a small flicker of guilt, he pulled the trigger, the shells slamming straight through the scout's back, and he slumped, eventually pushed off by Carolina, who he helped pull to her feet. The sound of Florida's shotgun no longer firing told him that this side was clear, but his gaze was fixed on the dead body of the man he'd just killed.

"We'll talk about this later," the woman next to him muttered in an even tone. She probably wouldn't shout at him. She had to make a first kill at some point, right? She'd understand. So all York could do was nod in response, and the three turned and ran for the next barricade.

Hopefully Team B would be near to their objective by now. Agent New York wasn't sure how many bullets they had left.

"Hurry up!" Colonel Grant called from his position on top of one of the supply crates. "They're breaking through the East side barricade!"

"Not for much longer," he heard Carolina mutter darkly under her breath, her statement reinforced by the sniper shot that smacked into the chest of the first of the next group of Insurrectionists. And so they started the process again, and York found himself scared by how much easier killing people was becoming.

Well, there was no turning back now.


	31. Chapter 30: Hitmen

**(A/N) Time for our Wednesday update, and the chapter that concludes our third round of chapters! This time, we see the more...brutal side to warfare, from the perspective of Agent Pennsylvania. As I'm sure you guys have realised, he tends to be quite...well, brutal. In case you haven't noticed, we have some incredible new artwork, provided by Jerem6401, Penn's writer, depicting Penn and Alaska and their rather troubled relationship. I think it's fitting that this piece coincides with this particular chapter. The full image can be found through this link - i57 . photobucket albums / g239 / Jerem6401 / collab1 _ zps792eb8d8 . jpg (just remove the spaces and add a _dot com slash_ after the photobucket. FF and their restrictions are playing up yet again!)**

**Our previous 'fic image, by ARCtroop, has now become our profile image, the full link to both images can be found on our profile page.**

**Anyway, enjoy the chapter. I know I did!**

* * *

**Chapter Thirty – Hitmen**

**Agent Pennsylvania**

**Written by Jerem6401**

* * *

"_Effective leadership is not about making speeches or being liked; leadership is defined by results not attributes"_ – Peter Drucker

* * *

"Target location within sight," Alaska reported. I walked up to the edge of the rooftop in which we stood and looked down over the city of New Delphi. Pillars of smoke were rising into a blackened sky dotted with exploding ships and glimmering shields. The building we stood upon was one of the tallest in the city, and now filled with downed insurrectionist soldiers. Most were unconscious… but letting all of them live just wasn't an option… or nearly as much fun. The building was right on the edge of the city, and exactly where intel suggested we'd find Colonel James Allen.

I put my hands on the edge and peered downwards, seeing a flat plaza in front of the building. In the centre was a mobile defence structure. Which is basically a bunker made of reinforced steel that you could drive to its location. Once it arrives, it roots itself into the ground until it needs to move out once again. They were slow as hell… so I wasn't nervous that the machine would start fleeing once our assault began.

"I count roughly thirty insurrectionist soldiers surrounding the bunker," Wyoming chimed in as he viewed the situation through his scope. "I would bet a pretty penny that our friend in somewhere inside."

"If Alaska's intel in correct, he will be," I stated. I was planning my attack on the group below, when my line of sight with it was broken. Alaska put his hand on my shoulder and pulled me back from the ledge. Not hard enough to make me lose my balance, but strong enough to make me face him. If anyone had done that to me at any other time in my life… they would have been praying for mercy within seconds. But Alaska was now one of my soldiers… my responsibility.

"My intel is correct," he snapped at me. "The look in that soldier's eyes when he told me where Allen was… trust me… he wasn't lying." I stared at Alaska a little longer before turning away from him. Not giving a damn if he expected a response or not.

"Wyoming," I began as I looked at the white armoured sniper, "you're going to stay up here and cover us while we take out the guards. You're also going to be taking the first shot on them, so take out as many as you can before we get down there… and make it count."

"Understood," he replied… like a good soldier should.

"So you made us fight our way up this entire building just to make our way back down to the bunker?" Alaska asked, getting more and more upset. I was also losing my patience with him. I looked him straight in the visor and then walked towards him. I was only inches in front of him, looking down on him.

"You're under my command right now, Alaska," I said sternly. "Learn your place and don't forget it."

"What are you going to do? Penalize me for not following orders? Seems like a pretty cocky move from someone with your record."

"And you're talking pretty high and mighty for someone who lost in a fight with Florida. And if you keep spitting attitude like this at me… you're going into that arena with me next." I stepped even closer so my visor was pressed against his. "And I don't care what it does to my rank… but I'll make sure there's a name missing from the list after it happens."

Alaska was silent for a moment, before reaching up and putting his hand across my helmet and shoving me away from him. I stumbled for a moment before regaining my balance and stepping back towards him. I smirked at his cockiness and looked over his shoulder, contemplating my response. I could've made it happen right there. Grabbed his throat and torn that bastard's head right off his shoulders. Thrown it to Wyoming like a basketball. But those words. The Director's words. They buzzed around in my head like a swarm of bees.

_"Make me proud."_

I shook my head slightly and turned towards the edge of the building. I looked back at Alaska and motioned him towards the edge.

"We're not taking the stairs," I replied. I stepped up onto the ledge and looked down at the plaza before me. I could hear Alaska gulp as I turned back to him. "Hope you're not afraid of heights, tough guy." Alaska shook his head and stepped up onto the ledge next to me. I knew he would never let me appear better than him. He wasn't going to let me win. He was so easy to understand… like he and I were the same person.

"Once you're all hooked up, start repelling down the building," Wyoming instructed, "I'll take the shot when you're almost at ground level. In the confusion, they should be easy enough to take down." I nodded and looked at Alaska. He was getting ready to hook up, as was I.

"Let's go, soldier!" I commanded, "we've got the drop on them." Suddenly a massive wind picked up behind us. We stumbled on the thin ledge as the sound of rotors filled the air around us. An insurrectionist falcon appeared from out of nowhere, with the pilot looking us straight in the eyes.

"Move move MOVE!" I yelled. I grabbed Alaska's shoulder and ripped him off the edge of the building. We tumbled off the side and started tearing through the air towards the ground. The falcon dove after us as the two gunners on the sides began to fire wildly towards on the building shattered to bits behind us as we fell, showering us in shards of glass that glittered in the air as we went.

I pulled out my assault rifle and aimed it towards the falcon, trying to line up a shot with the pilot. Then a stray bullet from the machinegun fire slammed into my rifle, ripping it from my hands. I watched it tumble upwards, seeing as I fell faster than it.

**"What's the plan now?!"** Alaska screamed through the radio as we fell. **"We never hooked up, buddy!"**

"No time!" I yelled back. "Wyoming, can you get a shot on this falcon? We're getting shot up down here!"

**"Did you upgrade your armour?"** he asked over the radio.

"What?"

**"The reinforced gauntlets? Did you upgrade?!"**

"Yeah, but I don't…"

**"Cross your arms in front of your chest!"** he yelled.

I looked at the falcon as the machineguns started to turn red from heat. The ground was getting closer, and the bullets were doing the same.

**"Just do it!"**

I crossed my arms in front of my chest and suddenly heard a massive crack fill the air. Wyoming's sniper bullet fired straight downwards and slammed into the reinforced armour on my gauntlets. It ricocheted perfectly to the side and tore straight through the glass of the cockpit, followed quickly by the pilot's head. The inside of the cockpit was suddenly covered in crimson as the pilot's head slammed down onto the controls in front of him. The falcon stopped descending as fast as us and began to spin. One of the gunners was thrown from the spinning vehicle and went hurdling towards the ground, while the other rode the falcon into the building, which then erupted into a massive fireball, dotted with shards of glass and broken steel.

I looked towards Alaska and saw that the sniper bullet had sped me up, and he was now falling further behind me. I looked down and saw a cable running from our building to the next. It was part of a massive communication line within the city. I reached out and grabbed it, snapping one end clean from its root. The other end held firm and I swung towards our building, smashing through a window and rolling across the floor.

I was in a room filled with massive machinery, used to power the building. I took some deep breaths, before my mind shot to Alaska, who had been falling right behind me.

Should I just let him fall? Slam into the ground so he'd be nothing more than a red smear on the pavement?

No.

I couldn't. Not with my rank on the line!

I immediately jumped to my feet and charged back towards the broken window. I dropped to the ground and skidded towards the window, grabbing a piece of the machinery that was rooted to the ground as I passed. I stretched my other hand out the window, reaching as far as I could. Time slowed down as Alaska started to reach my window. I watched as he dropped towards my hand. Out visors met, and there was a silent… but definite communication. I didn't even have to say anything, but he knew on the inside I was screaming "GRAB MY HAND!"

Alaska reached and his wrist fell perfectly into my grip. I held on as tightly as I could to the machinery as Alaska's full, terminal velocity, weight tried to rip my body in half. I remember screaming in pain as my torso stretched from the catch. My chest plate even snapped in the centre with an explosion of tiny fragments from my armour. I held on tightly, and I could feel Alaska doing the same.

I ripped my arm upwards and pulled Alaska into the room. He flew over me and skidded onto the floor as well. I breathed heavily for a moment, just taking a second to rest. Alaska was already pushing himself to his feet, so I naturally had to do the same. I got to my feet and walked towards him. He was brushing off his armour, and for some reason… even though I hated the guy… I reached out and put my hand on his shoulder.

"You still alive in there?" I asked. Alaska looked at his left arm, which had been the one that I caught. His shoulder had clearly been ripped from its socket and his arm was just hanging off of his body. He shook his head and looked towards the wall next to him. He wound up and slammed his shoulder into the wall, popping it back into place. He cringed for a second before rotating his arm a few times and nodding.

"I'll live," he replied. "So much for a stealthy entry. Now what's your plan? They know we're here, and you don't have your weapon anymore." I looked back towards the window and cracked my neck. "You're seriously considering taking on thirty soldiers… just me with a DMR… and you with nothing?"

"You still really don't know me, huh?" I asked. Alaska titled his head to the side and looked down at my hands as I clenched them into fists. "I live every second of my life with my favourite weapons." I walked towards the window and looked down at the guards. We were now only about five stories in the air. I hadn't realized how close the ground actually was. The soldiers were all looking towards our window and the destroyed falcon.

"I don't know, Pennsylvania," he said quietly. "I know I'm good… and though I hate to admit it… I know you're good, too. But are we this good?" I looked at each guard on the ground and then turned my head to look at Alaska.

"Impress me."

"There they are!" one of the guards screamed. "Take 'em down!" I put my hand up to my helmet and spoke into the radio.

"Wyoming," I began, "you ready?"

**"How many do you want taken down?**" he asked. There were about thirty of them down there.

"How many get you get in one shot?" I replied.

Suddenly the sniper shot rang out. I watched it tear through the first soldier's chest, then ricochet countless times off the ground and the metal bunker behind them. Sometimes it even bounced off of the weapons in their very hands. The group of soldiers was completely motionless after the bullet stopped bouncing. They looked at one another, contemplating what had just happened to them. Suddenly half of the soldiers grew blood stains on their chests and slowly dropped to the ground. There was still a silence as the insurrectionists stood in complete shock, until Wyoming's voice pierced the silence.

"**How many was that?"** he asked.

"GO!" I yelled. Alaska and I jumped from the window and down towards the remaining soldiers. I aimed my landing, and came down straight onto one of the insurrectionists, crushing his ribs in the process. I stood up and threw a punch into another soldier's head, sending an explosion of glass shards, blood, and dislodged teeth spraying from his visor. I felt the gun of another soldier press against the back of my head, right before Alaska slammed down on top of him. Alaska grabbed the man's DMR in one hand, and his own in another. He lifted them both and fired at the other insurrectionists, dropping five of them in seconds. His ability to wield two weapons at once so accurately still amazed me.

I suddenly heard the clicking of eight more weapons as the remaining soldiers stood in a circle around us, preparing to take us down. I looked at Alaska and reached out my hand.

"DMR!" I yelled.

He reacted quickly and tossed me one of his weapons. I grabbed it out of the air and jumped towards him. He and I threw our backs against each other and fired four shots each. All eight were direct headshots. The bodies started to drop, just as two more soldiers jumped from behind them with combat knives at the ready. They were going straight for Alaska, knowing he couldn't kill both of them fast enough with one weapon. A third soldier had his eyes on me and was charging in for the kill.

"DMR!" Alaska shouted.

I threw the DMR over my head, which Alaska snatched out of the air almost immediately. He ripped it downwards as he lifted his other DMR and fired both at the same time, tearing through both of the visors in front of him. The third soldier had just reached me, but with no weapon in my hands… I was at my most dangerous. I threw my hand out and grabbed the bottom of his helmet. He swung his knife at me, but couldn't find his target as I pushed his head backwards. I ripped him over my back, draping his body over my shoulders. With one swift motion I pulled down on his helmet and leg and snapped his spine across the top of my back.

I dropped his body to the ground and the world fell to silence. Alaska and I were standing in a sea of bodies… having achieved the seemingly impossible.

"Freeze punks!" someone abruptly shouted.

Alaska and I turned and saw a huge man standing in front of the bunker. He had chalk drawings of bullets covering his armour, and must've been almost eight feet in height. His armour was jet black and extremely thick, covering every inch of his body. He held a mini-gun in his hands which quickly began to spin up.

I crossed my arms in front of me and took the hailstorm of bullets into my reinforced gauntlets. They bounced in all directions as they sprang off the metal. Alaska ran up behind me, planting one foot onto my shoulder and spring-boarding off of my back. He fired both DMRs in the air, which didn't pierce the behemoth's armour.

He let go of the mini-gun with one hand and batted Alaska out of the air, making him slam into the concrete, cracking it and sending bits of rock in all directions. The giant wound up his mini-gun again and had it trained on Alaska. Suddenly a sniper round pierced the air and careened into the man's chest. He stepped backwards in pain and grabbed his wound. The behemoth followed the smoke trail back to Wyoming and was preparing to start firing on him.

Alaska pulled his DRM back up and fire two shots, both directly into the man's visor, cracking it. He reached up and put a hand on his face as tiny shards from his visor rained into his eyes. I ran towards him and shoved his mini-gun to the side, followed quickly by kicking him in the knee, snapping it to the side and making him drop to his other knee. His head was now the same height as my own, if not a little lower. I reached onto my chest and snapped off a grenade. I clicked the pin out and gripped it tightly in my fist. I threw my hand forward and smashed my fist through his visor, burying the grenade behind it. I pulled my hand back and kicked him in the chest, making him fall to his back, before his head exploded into a cascade of fire and blood.

It was beautiful.

The massive man's body convulsed for a second, before lying completely still on the ground.

The area around us was quiet once again, with nothing but the silent hum of the wind behind me. Alaska was getting to his feet, and Wyoming was beginning his call for evac. I turned towards the bunker and walked towards its entryway.

I wound up and forced my boot through the door, firing it into the darkness within. A man was sitting alone at a table in the centre of the room. He had white hair, neatly set on top of his head, and was outfitted with a stained black and red uniform. He had his hands folded together in front of him and was looking directly into my eyes. I stepped into the bunker and stood at the opposite end of the table. The man seemed completely unfazed by the war happening outside, or the fact that an enemy soldier was now breathing down his neck.

"James Allen, I presume," I said quietly.

"I suspect you're with the UNSC?" he asked. "Come here to try and stop the insurrection?"

"We're working _with_ the UNSC. That's all you need to know."

"Is it?" He sat backwards and folded his arms. "I'm assuming you're here to kill me? So what's the bother with letting me know?" I slammed my hands onto the table, denting the metal.

"Project Freelancer!" I yelled. "If you have wires in this room relaying this… I hope they can hear me loud and clear. Our organization is completely unstoppable." I leaned closer to him, and I could see sweat starting to form on his forehead. "I'm… completely unstoppable." He smirked and closed his eyes.

"Yes…you're quite the soldier," he commented. "It's a shame really." I stood back up and turned around to look at the door. No sign of Alaska. Good.

"A shame?" I asked as I looked back. "What do you mean?" He stood up and motioned towards me.

"Look at you! You're a super soldier. I doubt there's anyone that could compare to someone of your expertise. No one ranked higher than you." I looked away as memories flooded my mind once again. My name highlighted in blue… with a horrible glowing number plastered next to it. James laughed a little and shook his head. "I knew it. They don't use you like they should. Appreciate the soldier you are. What you're capable of."

He walked around the table and stood directly next to me. He spoke softer… almost in a whisper. "Just imagine what you could be. What the insurrection... could make you."

"Penn!" Alaska yelled as he got to the doorway. "Quit beating him to death and…" Alaska froze when he saw us speaking and lowered his weapon. "He's still alive? C'mon, Penn! Evac is one its way!" James looked me in the visor and shook his head.

"Make your choice, Penn," he said quietly. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath as the words penetrating my mind once again. I spoke softly and clenched my hand into a fist.

"I'll make you proud," I whispered, "I swear it!" I reached up with both arms and grabbed James's head. I ripped my arms in separate ways and the bunker was filled with the crack louder than Wyoming's sniper rounds. Alaska shuddered for a moment as James fell to the floor in front of me. I stared as his lifeless body for a moment, but his words… his words still had plenty of life within them. Then next thing I felt was Alaska's hand on my shoulder. I turned my head to look at him, remaining silent as I did.

"Nice work out there," he complimented. "I didn't think you could pull it off. So… I guess you proved me wrong. And I didn't mention it earlier but… thanks for the save coming down the building." My mind was alive with thoughts. I stepped out the door, forcing my shoulder past him as I went.

"What the insurrection could make you," echoed in my head over and over again. I looked back at Alaska one more time before making my way into the plaza for evac.

"I would've lost points if you died."


	32. Chapter 31: Urban Warfare

**(A/N) Hey everyone, sorry that this chapter is going up a few hours late, internet has been down the last few days so I'm uploading this off a friends computer. Hopefully our next update will be tomorrow, but that depends on whether or not my internet's back online. If there is a delay, it shouldn't be for too long, so just hang in there! Hopefully it won't be necessary. Anyway, now that you're caught up, this chapter is another one of mine, from the point-of-view of Agent Wyoming! Had a lot of fun writing it!**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-One – Urban Warfare**

**Agent Wyoming**

**Written by NicKenny**

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_"I never really understood how Wyoming could be so detached at times. Nothing that happened ever fazed the guy, not Penn breaking some guy in half, not Alaska pulling a knife on some guy, not Maine ripping a warthog in half with his bare hands. Maybe it was due to his training as a sniper: you're patient, still, dead to the world until your enemy makes a mistake and exposes himself. Then you pull the trigger and go home. Emotions don't really come into it." - _Agent New York (Extract from log entries made after going AWOL).

* * *

"Hold on tight, guys!" 343-R's voice rang out from the cockpit, "We'll be going in hot."

Wyoming groaned and gripped onto his safety harness, noticing Penn and Alaska following suit. Seconds later the pelican shuddered and the freelancer's ears rang with the noise of an explosion.

"Are we hit?" Alaska yelled up to the pilot, a note of worry in his voice.

343-R just laughed, and the pelican shuddered once more. "Nope, those are missiles hitting one of the flares we've been dropping. If we had been hit, you'd know about it, trust me. There would be more plummeting towards the ground, crashing, burning. You know, all the good stuff."

"How far to our LZ?" Penn asked gruffly from his seat next to Wyoming, his huge frame barely fitting into the safety harness, which was clearly designed for more…average sized soldiers.

"About four klicks," the pilot swiftly replied, "It'll take no time at all. We'd already be there if it wasn't for all these damn SAM sites. Seriously, what the hell were the UNSC doing before we got here? It takes _time _to set up this kind of an assault."

Something in his cockpit began beeping and he swore under his breath. "Ok, guys, you're probably not going to like this next bit."

Wyoming groaned again, this time even louder, and the pelican rolled to the left, avoiding whatever missile had currently been locked onto them. Alaska swore as it righted itself, and Wyoming bit back the bile that was rising in his throat.

He wasn't a happy flier.

The attacks on their pelican began to ease off as they approached the city, and Wyoming sprang out of his seat the second the safety harnesses went up, after 343-R landed the ship. He barely heard the pilot's parting words as he, Penn and Alaska exited the pelican as quickly as possible, relieved to be setting their feet back on terra firma.

"Thank you for flying with Project Freelancer. The time in New Delphi is seven-sixteen p.m. We have once again made record time, and have not sustained any casualties, despite the intents of the cluster of bastards who were shooting at us. Your goodie-bags are located at the rear entrance of the pelican; please remember to take one on the way out. We hope to see you again soon."

Pilots. They were _not _Wyoming's favourite kind of people.

They stood out on the landing platform, taking in the city that lay before them. UNSC soldiers were running to and fro, and sounds of gunfire and the occasional explosion could be heard in the distance. The skyline was almost blotted out by the huge high-rise skyscrapers that the city consisted of, but the evident beauty of the structures had been somewhat marred by the days of warfare, as the taken its toll. The buildings all bore their own individual marks: some had been opened up by missiles, the explosions having left gaping holes in their sides. Others had been scorched from fire, or had partially collapsed, or had every window shattered into a billion tiny shards. Sirens could be heard all around them, and the constant shouting from the UNSC soldiers made it difficult for Wyoming to think of something witty to say.

"So this is what Hell looks like," he muttered numbly, taking in his surroundings with a heavy heart.

Next to him Alaska snorted and turned to him. "I dunno," he said, shaking his head slightly, "I kind of like it. Sure as hell beats that jungle."

Penn turned to them, his face unreadable behind his visor, but Wyoming could tell that he was thinking his next plan of action through. "Okay, we've been ordered to rendezvous with Carolina and the others, and provide additional support to the UNSC. Guess we may as well get started and look for them."

Wyoming paused after Penn said this, turning and looking over to a nearby group of UNSC soldiers. "Or we could just ask _them_?" he suggested meekly, nodding to the troopers.

He could feel both Penn's glare and Alaska's smug amusement, despite their hidden features, but Penn just sighed heavily and nodded slowly. "If you want to do things the boring way," he muttered to himself as he walked up to the soldiers, evidently displeased with Wyoming's suggestion.

The soldiers turned and saluted as the three freelancers made their way over, and Wyoming couldn't help smiling just a little bit. Evidently Carolina and the others had left an impression on the UNSC. Penn stepped forward and addressed the group, taking on his role of team leader once more.

"Do you know where we can find the rest of our team, in particular the soldier with aqua…sea-green…teal armour?"

The soldiers practically radiated enthusiasm, and nodded excitedly. Their sergeant quickly replied: "Of course, sir. They're with the main force in the northwest corner of the city, driving back the Insurrectionists. Colonel Grant's leading a smaller force against the Innies in the south of the city, where they're less congregated."

Penn nodded and thanked the soldier, turning back to Alaska and Wyoming. "You heard the man, the northwest corner, on the double! I'll be damned if there's no Innies left for us to kill by the time we get there!"

* * *

The northwest corner of the city was in even worse shape than the rest of New Delphi, and had evidently borne the brunt of the fighting. Dozens of fires burned in the surrounding buildings, and the sounds of explosions and gunfire were even more prominent.

"I take back what I said earlier," Wyoming noted, walking through the city next to his two teammates, "_This _is what Hell looks like."

They picked up their pace, and soon encountered a huge group of UNSC troops as they reached the very edge of the battle. Here the UNSC had set up several medical tents, and the screams of wounded soldiers could be heard clearly, even over the gunfire that echoed out from the north. There were also several MAAPs in lock-down mode arranged along the edge of the camp, their Zeus cannons firing at random intervals, the plasma discharge arching through the air, quickly followed by a tremendous explosion.

"I would like to take back my previous statement one final time," Wyoming said with utter sincerity as they tried to blot out the images of the wounded all around them, hurriedly marching through the area.

They followed a group of about twenty soldier who were marching to the front line, eager to finally get into the fight, and reached the rest of the UNSC forces, who were currently locked into battle with a huge Insurgent force, both fighting for control of a few city blocks in the northwest corner of the city.

Penn grabbed a nearby soldier, catching his attention. "I'm looking for Agent Carolina of Project Freelancer!" he yelled, over the gunfire. The soldier just pointed towards a hastily constructed barricade about two hundred yards in front of them, which was sheltering a sort of lean-to that had been erected from the rubble of a fallen building.

Penn let go of the soldier and strode forward, pushing his way through the throngs of soldiers. Wyoming and Alaska paused to glance at one another, before following their team leader into the building.

The building was evidently serving as the field headquarters for the UNSC, which was confirmed, in Wyoming's opinion, by the four ODST's that stood on guard outside the door, and stopped Penn as he made his way up to them.

"Authorization?" one of the ODST's snapped, not quite pointing his battle rifle at Penn, but, at the same time, making it clear that he _was _in fact holding a battle rifle.

Penn just stared blankly for a moment, evidently considering crushing the ODST's head between his hands, but managed to restrain himself. "Agent Pennsylvania of Project Freelancer, and these are agents Wyoming and Alaska," he said, jerking a thumb back in our direction.

The ODST glanced over at Wyoming and Alaska, then back at Penn, then over at his comrades. "I'm going to have to run this by my superior officer," he replied, looking confused. "We were not informed that we would be receiving more freelancers."

Penn removed his helmet, glaring at the ODST, and things could have taken on a turn for the worst if a familiar voice hadn't suddenly rang out from behind the freelancers.

"Wow, look what the cat dragged in."

The three agents spun around to see a smiling Agent York standing behind them, his shotgun across his back and his helmet in his hand. "And by dragged in I mean spit out like a hairball, hey guys! I thought you were supposed to be off assassinating some Innie colonel?"

Wyoming walked up to him and grabbed his hand firmly, happy to be reunited with his roommate once more. "We're a bit ahead of schedule. That objective was completed a good three or four hours ago."

York's smile widened, and shook Wyoming's hand warmly. "That would explain why the fight went out of these guys around that time," he replied with a nod towards the Insurrectionist camp. "We just thought Carolina was scaring them off with her steely gaze and cold contempt."

He looked past Wyoming and nodded to the ODST guards, who were looking slightly nonplussed by this exchange. "It's okay, guys, they're with me."

The ODST who had stopped Penn shook his head slowly. "I'm sorry York but we still need clearance before we can let them through."

York just laughed at the guard's words. "Don't try to pull that on me, Dave. You wouldn't want everyone to know about that weekend in New Alexandria, would you?"

The soldier blushed behind his helmet and glared at York, trying to ignore the curious expressions of his companions. "Just go in," he spat out venomously, his eyes stabbing daggers into York's soul.

The four freelancers brushed past the ODST's, and as he walked past Wyoming current resist the urge to give the infuriated ODST a sharp salute, earning a glare in return. The building itself was filled with evidently high-up UNSC officials. An irritated looking woman with a hooked nose looked up at them over a pile of maps, each showing different areas of New Delphi.

"Who're these?" she asked sharply, but York just shrugged it off.

"Agents Pennsylvania, Wyoming and Alaska," he replied with a flourish, pointing out each freelancer in turn.

The woman's colleague, a balding man wearing thin wire spectacles, nodded slowly. "The hit team?" he asked, a questioning note in his voice.

Wyoming snorted and shook his head vigorously. "We prefer precision removal unit."

The two UNSC officials glanced at each other, and, as one, shook their heads in disbelief. "Where the hell do they recruit you guys?" the woman murmured to herself, before introducing herself as Lieutenant Jennifer Hilary, and her colleague as Major Jonathon Smith. York broke up the introductions smoothly, asking where Carolina was, and the Lieutenant frowned, saying that she was currently communicating with Colonel Grant.

"Forget Grant, she'll want to see them," was all he would tell her, then ushered the other three agents to the far end of the room, where Carolina stood, talking to an aged UNSC official through a monitor, who Wyoming assumed was Colonel Grant.

"Carolina!" York shouted out as they walked up to her, barging through the officials in order to forge a path. She turned around slowly, terminating her link with Grant, and Wyoming winced slightly. Her helmet lay on the table next to her, so her face was on clear display. Her normally beautiful face was marred somewhat by the black eye that she sported, and the bruises that ran along her left cheek. Her eyes narrowed slightly as she recognised the agents, and she nodded slightly to them.

"I take it that the target has been terminated then?" she asked, immediately all business, just like she always was.

Penn nodded. "He's dead. The Director sent us to help push the Innies out of the city."

"Would have helped if he had told us you were coming, but then again, we've had troubles with our radio equipment lately. We think the Innies might be trying to jam us with something, but we haven't been able to pinpoint the exact area where the interference is coming from." Carolina was obviously weary, and her injuries attested to the fact that she had been in the very thick of the fighting, but there was something to her, some sort of iron will underneath that cold exterior, that reminded Wyoming a little of the Director. She would never give up, no matter how impossible her mission seemed.

"How's the liberation of the city going?" Alaka asked, seeming genuinely curious, a change from his normal fluctuation between disinterested aloofness, and fascinated glee.

Carolina sighed, running a hand through her hair. "Grant just called to inform me that he's driven the Insurgents out of the city in his sector. That just leaves here, but at the moment we've got a dozen city blocks filled to the brim with hostiles, and don't have the manpower to take them out. To be honest, we're at a stalemate. When Grant and his men arrive to reinforce us, maybe then we'll be able to go on an all-out offensive, but for the time being we're just sitting out here, talking."

Penn cracked his knuckles, glancing at Wyoming and Alaska. "Then put us to work wherever you need us. Clearly you guys have seen a lot more action than we did, so let's try to rectify that situation."

Carolina seemed to mull this over, seeming almost unwilling to allow Penn to encroach on her mission, but eventually bowed her head in acceptance. "Right," she murmured, picking up the data-pad that lay on the table next to her helmet, her fingers flying furiously across it, bringing up a map of the city blocks in dispute onto the monitor.

"Penn, I want you to join our main body of soldiers here, at the barricades. We're planning on launching an offensive against the Insurrectionist forces located in this building," bringing up an image of a half-collapsed skyscraper, "York believes that _this _is where the interference is originating. I want you to take York and Alaska, along with two squads of ODSTs, and liberate the building."

Wyoming cleared his throat. "What can I do to help?"

Carolina turned to him, with a half-smile on her face. "I need you with Virginia and her team of snipers on our building on Dresden Street, to the west of our current location. They're currently locked in a dogfight with a team of Innie snipers in the building on the opposite side of the road, and until they're taken down I can't move troops up that street."

"Understood," he replied, nodding slowly, until he realised that Carolina hadn't mentioned either Massa or Florida, "What about the others?"

"Massa's organising our field hospitals. I'm sure you guys have seen what's going on there. Florida's over on the east side with a team of heavily armoured ODST's, trying to smoke a group of Insurgents out of the hole they've crawled into. I'm not going to lie to you, at the moment all we can do is hold out and hope that our reinforcements arrive before theirs do."

Wyoming nodded, turned and walked out with the other three agents, and York directed him to the soldiers who were running their transportation. After a brief explanation, the corporal running it grudgingly agreed to bring him to the building on Dresden Street, but warned Wyoming to keep his head down and, if he got shot, not to start crying to him.

The corporal hopped into the driver's seat of his warthog and Wyoming got into the passenger seat next to him. They took a winding path through dozens of back-alleys, sometimes forced to retrace their steps when an alley was blocked by fallen rubble, but eventually the driver pulled up and looked over at Wyoming, an apologetic look on his face.

"I'm sorry, this is as far as I go," he said grimly, "Driving the warthog up any further would be suicide. Dresden Street's a no-go area, not with those snipers up there. The building you want is that one there," pointing it out to Wyoming, "Just keep your head down and try to keep behind cover. Who knows, maybe you'll make it!"

With this enthusiastic well-wishing, Wyoming got out of the warthog, thanking the corporal. He made his way slowly along the street, keeping low, glad that his armour helped him to fade into the background, matching up nicely with the chalky-white dust of the rubble all around him. He had just about reached the building that the corporal had pointed out to him when the noise of sniper-fire suddenly filled his ears and a bullet slammed into the ground a few feet to his left. He threw himself forward, taking cover under part of a collapsed wall, wincing each time a sniper shot rang out and smacked into the ground nearby or into the wall that he was crouching behind.

He took a deep breath and slowly raised his head over the edge of the collapsed wall, peeking out for a millisecond in order to judge the situation. Almost immediately a shot rang out and he jerked his head back just in time to avoid the bullet which slammed into a patch of ground nearby, flying through the space of air that his head had occupied only a moment earlier.

"This day just keeps getting better and better," he murmured, taking another deep breath before picking himself up and charging across the small gap between him and the building, physically throwing himself over the last few feet into the gaping hole at the back of the building. He smashed into the ground as dozens of shots rang out, groaning as he slowly picked himself up and dusted himself off. Something moved in the darkness of the ruined building, and he quickly glanced at his motion trackers, confused by the fact that they weren't picking anything up. He flicked on his helmet's torch and paled as dozens of figures suddenly came into view, their guns trained on him.

"Um…hello?" he said, slowly raising his hands to show that they were empty, praying that he wouldn't end up being shot by his own side. Friendly-fire was definitely not the way he wanted to go out.

A figure stepped forward out of the darkness, and Wyoming sagged as recognition dawned. "Wyoming?" she asked, a sniper rifle in her hands, her green and red armour reflecting the light of his torch.

"Hello, Virginia. Nice to see you." There was a brief pause and Wyoming looked around the room, his sense of unease not yet removed. "Um…could you get your men to stop pointing their guns at me? It's…making me slightly uncomfortable."

Virginia motioned for her men to do as he asked, and Wyoming slowly picked himself up, removing his sniper rifle from its place on his back. He flicked off his torch and the room was plunged into semi-darkness once more, but his eyes gradually became accustomed to the lack of light.

"What're you doing down here?" Virginia asked, curious. "I thought Carolina had established this street as a no-man's-zone until we had cleared out that nest of snipers?"

"She thought I could help. Didn't quite realise how serious they were when they described what was going on down here."

Virginia chuckled quietly to herself. "You don't know the half of it. The jammer they've set up to block our transmissions is also playing hell with our motion sensors, so we can't get a lock on the positions of their snipers. So basically, we've gone back a couple of centuries, and are playing the old waiting game."

She paused for a few seconds before asking: "I take it the hit was successful?"

"Of course," Wyoming replied, gesturing with his free hand, "Penn carried it out. You know how he loves breaking things."

Virginia winced slightly, and Wyoming couldn't help but empathise. They all knew how much Penn enjoyed breaking things. It wasn't something you could forget quickly.

"So," Wyoming continued, "What do you need me to do?"

"Just pick a window, and try to take out any of their snipers that poke their heads out. Unfortunately, until that jammer's down, we can't do anything more."

If Wyoming hadn't been wearing his helmet, he would have stroked his moustache, an action he was fond of carrying out when a problem presented itself. "York has taken Penn and Al and a couple of ODSTs to clear out a building that they think the jamming frequency is coming from. Maybe everything will be back online sooner rather than later."

"Maybe," Virginia replied, her voice grim, "But until then, we have a job to do."

* * *

Two hours later Wyoming was wondering what on earth was taking the three agents so long to take out that jammer. Of course, York could have been wrong, and the jammer could've been located somewhere else, but Wyoming had a lot of respect for his roommates abilities, and knew that it wasn't like him to make a mistake like that.

They hadn't been having much luck taking out the Insurrectionist snipers. Wyoming had taken out three, Virginia two, and her team of ODSTs had accounted for another three, but they had suffered casualties of their own, and for every Innie that they shot down, another one instantly took his place.

Still, eight to two wasn't bad, but they didn't have the same numbers that the Innies appeared to have, and with their motion trackers and radios down, it was going to be a long fight. Wyoming smiled as another Innie slowly raised his head up over the ledge across the street, pulled the trigger of his sniper rifle and grinned as the man's head exploded in a mist of red spray.

"Four to two, Virginia. You're falling behind."

He had just finished his taunt when Virginia's own sniper rang out, and an Insurrectionist collapsed out of the window of the fifteenth floor, slamming into the street below with a sickening _thud_. "Four to three, asshole," she replied from the far side of the room, reloading her rifle. "Don't get cocky yet!"

All of a sudden their radio crackled and both freelancers jumped, surprised by the sudden noise. **"Hello? Can anyone hear me?" **a familiar voice asked, his voice crackling slightly at the start but became clearer as he spoke.

Wyoming raised his hand to the side of his helmet, trying to blot out interfering noise. "We here you York. Guessing you found the jammer?"

"**We sure did, Wyoming, sorry about the wait. The Insurgents had dug themselves in pretty deep. We did **_**not **_**have a fun time trying to clear them out."**

"Our motion trackers are back online," Virginia said, glancing over to Wyoming, who grinned from beneath his helmet.

"I'll get back to you, old chap. Virginia and I have some business to deal with," he informed York, and broke off the transmission.

He glanced over at his HUD, noticing that both their own men and the Insurrectionist snipers now showed up, and nodded to Virginia. "Let's get down to business, shall we?"

* * *

"Building cleared," Wyoming informed Carolina over the radio, pausing to reload his rifle. He hefted it over his shoulder and glanced over at Virginia, who was talking to one of her ODSTs. "What now?"

He was surprised when, instead of Carolina's voice replying over the radio, the voice was that of the Director. **"Agent Virginia and yourself are to make your way to the Crown Plaza, just six blocks west of your current location. We're going to be pressing forward the attack, and will need the two of you to serve as our eyes in the sky."**

"Sir?" Wyoming replied, confused. "Does that mean that we have reinforcements inbound?"

The Director remained silent for a moment, before his southern drawl echoed over the radio once more. **"Indeed it does, agent. Indeed it does."**

* * *

Wyoming gaped as the sky filled with pelicans, several of which changed their course and landed in the Plaza next to the two agents, dozens of armed UNSC soldiers and Project Freelancer personnel promptly marching out of them, rushing towards the area of conflict with all due haste.

"I guess the cavalry have arrived," Virginia murmured next to him. "The Innies don't stand much of a chance now."

Wyoming shrugged. "I just wonder what the Director meant by 'eyes in the sky'?"

His question was swiftly answered when one of the falcons broke off from the main group and descended into the Plaza, landing next to them. The driver's cockpit opened and Wyoming's heart sank just a little as 343-R's cheery voice rang out: "I'm here to pick up an Agent Virginia and an Agent Wyoming?"

"You have got to be kidding me," Wyoming muttered as the two agents hopped into the falcon, sniper rifles in their arms. The falcon's rotors began to spin and they lifted off, throwing clouds of dust up into the air. Wyoming gulped back the all-too-familiar feeling of nausea and peered through the scope of his rifle, hoping that concentration on his work would help dispel it.

The sooner this battle was over, the better.


	33. Chapter 32: Black Hawk Down

**(A/N) Hey, time for our Monday update! This chapter is brought to you by ParabolaOfMystery, depicting everyone's favourite teal-aqua-sea green- whatever - wearing freelancer, Agent Carolina. Would just like to take this opportunity to thank each and everyone of our readers, as we passed 6,500 views since our last update, which, quite frankly, is incredible! Let's try to break 10,000 before the end of May, eh?**

**Anyway, not going to hold you any longer, here's the chapter.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-Two - Black Hawk Down**

**Agent Carolina**

**Written by Parabola of Mystery**

* * *

_"The greatest test of courage on earth is to bear defeat without losing heart." - _Robert Green Ingersoll

* * *

The city of New Delphi was a peace, for now. Although 'at peace' didn't really seem like the right word choice. The Innies were out, but the entire city was in ruins. Carolina could see the damage as the raised higher and higher in the Mother of Invention. At least they were done there. She figured she'd had enough fighting for one day. She took off her helmet and touched her eye tenderly. It was puffy and swollen, and probably a lovely shade of purple. Ah well. Shows I'm a fighter, I guess.

"That really brings out your eyes, you know." Carolina turned to the side to see York, smiling like a goon.

"You're not supposed to be in the cockpit, you know. Only the pilot and co-pilot are supposed to be here."

"I know that," he said, grinning. "I never really liked rules, though." He looked out the windshield to the city below. "You guys have a much better view than us. Not fair."

Carolina rolled her eyes. "Sorry this isn't exactly Air Tours of Haven."

York yawned and stretched his arms. "That was a long day. I could really use a burger or something right now. Mmmm. Yeah. That sounds nice."

"Yeah. It was a long day." Her mind flashed back to her lying on the ground, a gun pointed at her face. "Thanks, by the way."

"For what?"

Carolina bit her lip. "You know."

York paused. "Oh yeah. That. It… wasn't really a big deal." Carolina looked at him. Shooting that guy had really bothered him more than he wanted it too. She couldn't understand why. He was trained for this. Maybe there was something more to it. But he would have to get used to killing. There would be more to come. Much, much more.

"Everybody buckle in!" 479er yelled.

"What's going on?" York asked, confused.

"Does it fucking matter? Do what I say!" The plane banked hard to the right, and York smashed into the wall. He seemed to get the message and scrambled back to buckle himself in.

Carolina checked that her seat buckles were secured and put her helmet back on. "What's the situation?"

The plane went hard to the right this time, and Carolina heard a muffled thump from behind her. "Innies again," 479er said with clenched teeth. "They seem to be shooting everything they've got left at us." The pilot's voice suddenly got deathly quiet. "Yeah. That's a lot of missiles."

There was a bone-splitting crash as one as one of the missiles must've hit. 479er was mumbling under her breath. Carolina felt a sense of dread creeping over her. She'd never seen the pilot like this.

"Right wing hit!" York yelled from the back of the plane.

"Shit," the pilot muttered. "Everybody buckle in and make sure your helmets are on!"

"We're going to crash, aren't we?" Carolina asked, trying to keep her voice calm.

479er took a shuddering breath. "It's either that or be blown to smithereens in the air. People survive plane crashes all the time."

"I hope you're making a good decision here."

"Me too. Brace yourselves, people; it's going to get crashy."

* * *

When Carolina woke up, everything was upside down. Her head felt swollen, and her seat belt- she was still strapped into her seat- felt like it was slowly pushing into her body.

_We crashed_, she thought. We crashed in the woods and now I'm hanging upside down. A sudden overwhelming panic overcame her and she was grabbing, fumbling at those bloody seat buckles and her fingers wouldn't move right, but she had to get out; she had to get out now. She found the bottom buckle and it popped open, and suddenly her lower body was leaning forward, falling out of the seat; she got the other one open and then she fell. She was higher up than she thought.

She smashed though part of an intact part of the windshield and hit the ground hard. The impact set electric shocks of pain through her body and radiated around her right arm. She tasted blood; she'd bitten her lip when she hit the ground, and blood was leaking throughout her mouth. With enormous effort, she rolled herself onto her stomach, off the arm she had landed on. The slightest movements sent feelings like nails on a chalkboard up her arm. She forced herself to look at it and immediately felt a wave of nausea; at her elbow her arm bent the complete wrong way.

She used her good arm to push herself up and against a chunk of metal, probably part of a wing. Stay focused. Stay calm. She used her good arm to pull off her helmet, and then turned her head to the side to spit out a mouthful of blood and what was part of her lip that she'd bitten off.

Assess your surroundings. Where are you? Is it safe? She was sitting on the ground. Looking up, the cockpit was above her, maybe ten to fifteen feet, caught in the branches of an enormous tree. Thank god the tree caught them; if they had a straight impact to the ground, the plane would've flattened itself like aluminium can. To the right was a large branch hanging by splinters, but Carolina guessed that if it fell, she wouldn't be in range. She looked up at the cockpit again. She could make out the white uniform of 479er, who was still dangling in her pilot's seat. Her seat was closer to the ground that Carolina's had been, but it was still out of her reach. Carolina called out the pilot's name, but 479er hung there limply.

Suddenly, there was a squeal of metal and the cockpit was coming down at her. Carolina yelped and flattened herself to the ground, but nothing happened; it hadn't completely crashed to the ground, but it was only about six feet from the ground now. Thankfully, 479er was much closer too.

I need to get her out of there before this thing falls any more, Carolina thought hurriedly. She got to her feet, using the chuck of plane to help her up. Her right arm dangled limply at her side, still sending pulses of pain though her body that set her teeth on edge.

"479er?" she called softly. The pilot groaned, but didn't move. Using her left arm, Carolina reached up and began to undo the seat buckles. Her left hand was clumsy and awkward, but eventually she got the nearest buckle undone. 479er began to slide out of her seat, so Carolina used her right shoulder to catch her as she undid the other buckle. The pilot fell, but unable to use her right arm, Carolina couldn't catch her and the two tumbled to the ground.

Carolina groaned and pushed 479er off of her. The cockpit creaked again, startling Carolina, but it didn't move. Time to go. She looped one of 479er's arms around her shoulders and dragged her out and away the cockpit.

Leaning the unconscious pilot against a tree, Carolina looked up at the Pelican, and with a shock, realized it actually was only half of the plane. It ended after the cockpit, with tangled teeth of charred metal. She felt like was going to throw up. Where were the others? And the rest of the plane?

Oh god. She didn't know what to do. She prepared herself all her life for everything. Except this. How could someone ever prepare for something like this? The Director didn't exactly give them a Plane Crash 101 course.

There was a cough behind her.

"Owwwww," 479er moaned, lifting her head. "That really sucked." She looked up at her plane, and through her visor Carolina could picture her devastated face as she stared at what used to be her Pelican. "Yep, that officially really sucked. Where are the Innies? I want to go kill some." 479er glanced at her, and Carolina could feel her eyes on her right arm, which was hanging limply at her side.

"What's wrong with your arm?"

Carolina bit her lip and turned slightly so it was a little more out of view. "Nothing."

_I can't be weak. Not now._

"Looks like a bit more than nothing, kiddo."

Carolina sighed. She was too tired to argue. Her mind was filled with so many things she couldn't keep track of them; the plane, the crash, the Director, the others, the Innies- oh god, the Innies. There was no doubt that whoever shot them down knew where they were, and were coming. "Shit."

"What?"

"We need to find the others. Right now."

479er pushed herself up against the tree into standing position. "Aren't we supposed to keep our heads still or something in case we have trauma?"

"Technically yes, but I thought you might not really want to sit around and keep your head still and wait for the Innies to find us."

"Hm. Good point."

Carolina set off into the woods; finding the other part of the plane wasn't overly difficult, seeing as a) it was a plane, and b) she just had to follow the trail of destruction to find it. The large plume of smoke helped, too. Soon enough she was approaching an even larger mass of twisted metal, radiating with heat as it burned.

"Well shit," 479er mumbled, which summed it up pretty well. Carolina felt pressure building on her chest. They're all fine. Just a couple cuts and bruises.

"York!" she called, but all she could hear was the sound of creaking metal. 479er glanced at her, not even trying to hide her worry. Carolina bit her lip. The noise from the fire and the slowly collapsing plane and the forest around her seemed to be getting louder and louder in her ears. "York!" she called again, with more desperation. Her chest was tightening and she couldn't breathe. They were alive. She knew it somewhere. She just needed to find them. She heard buzzing, but she couldn't tell if it was in her head or the sound of approaching Innie planes.

What if they found York and the others before she did?

She found herself running through the woods, stumbling. Branches and rocks kept finding their way in front of her feet. "York!"

"Carolina?"

Carolina fumbled, almost running into a tree and skidding on the forest floor. It was York's voice. She was certain of it. "York?"

She heard her name again, and took off toward the direction of the voice. Not a single thought was going through her mind. She dodged trees and fallen branches without even thinking, until she hit something solid and bounced backward.

She saw beige armor and before she could react, she was being crushed. Her arm was sending shock waves throughout her entire body, making her vision turn dark, but at the same time, she was the most relieved and relaxed she'd been all day.

"Ow, York," she mumbled, her voice muffled by his armor.

York released her from his crushing hug. "Sorry. Kind of thought you were dead." He looked down, and his eyes widened. "What happened to your arm?"

"Nothing," she said. "Do you have Massa and Alaska?"

"Nothing didn't happen to your arm, Carolina. Are you hurt?"

"It doesn't matter right now, just answer my damn question."

His eyes lingered on her limp arm, but eventually he looked back at her face. "They're fine, mostly. We moved away from the crash site in case the fire spread or something. Where's 479er?"

Carolina looked around. "She was right behind me." On cue, 479er stumbled into view and tripped over a rock. York laughed, and Carolina felt like she was flying. Her team was alive. Everyone was alive. They could get through this… but then she heard that buzzing in her ears, and this time she knew it was a plane. York heard it too, and his face paled.

"Take me to the others," Carolina said. York nodded, his face still pointed toward the sky. He grabbed her good hand and they set off at a run.

"Why are we always running?!" 479er yelled from behind them, but they kept going until they reached a gigantic tree. Massa was leaned in sitting position against it, her helmet on the ground next to her. There was a large trail of blood caked on her face, and she didn't seem to be conscious. Alaska stood protectively in front of her, but when he saw it was just York and Carolina (and eventually 479er, when she caught up) he relaxed a little.

"Thought you guys were Innies," he grumbled. "They're coming." He glanced at Carolina, and her broken arm, and his eyes narrowed. "We need to get out of here."

"No, we can't." York gestured to Massa. "She's in no condition to be moved."

Alaska stared at him with cold eyes. "Then we can fight them off."

Carolina looked at all of them. Alaska's DMR was leaned against the tree and York had a couple pistols on him, but that was all the weapons they had. She hadn't thought to grab hers, and the rest were probably melting in the Pelican. Not to mention her broken arm. She was a good shot with her left, but it wouldn't be the same. To add to that, 479er's combat training was okay at best, and Massa… she was just a shooting target at this point. "No," she said.

Alaska glared at her. "No?"

Carolina backed up until she had a tree to lean against. "If we fight, then we'll die. All of us."

Alaska opened his mouth, but York put up his hand to silence him. "She's right. We can't fight."

Alaska looked back and forth between the two of them, infuriated. "So what are we supposed to do? Surrender?"

"Exactly," Carolina said. She felt drained. She wanted to go to sleep and never wake up. "The Innies will find us. They will surround us, and when they demand us to put down our weapons and put our hands up and surrender, we will."

"You've got to be kidding," Alaska said, picking up his DMR. "We're just going to give up? Not even put up a fight? This is a joke. We are not going to make fools of ourselves."

The sound of rustling leaves and clanking armour was growing louder in Carolina's ears. Alaska raised his DMR, watching as the enemy soldiers approached them. 479er went to stand next to Carolina, trying to hide her shaking. Each second made her stomach churn more, but she didn't move and neither did York as she listened and watched the Innies surround them.

She was a failure. A complete, utter failure.

"Put your weapons on the ground and raise your hands!"

Alaska took a moment to stare Carolina directly in the eye. "You'd better be right about this," he muttered, and threw his rifle on the ground.

She hoped she was, too.


	34. Chapter 33: Loose Tightlip

**(A/N) Hey! Once again, sorry for the late update. As I said, exams are making it hard for me to be online at times, and going to see the Lion King musical last night didn't help. (It was awesome). Here's a chapter that I know you'll all enjoy, brought to you by the amazing (have I used that adjective recently?) Avalanche Wolf, as always, for Agent Alaska. Personally loved this chapter. Alaska is just such a…psychopath? Something along those lines anyway! **

**Enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-Three – Loose Tightlip**

**Agent Alaska**

**Written by Avalanche Wolf**

* * *

"_It is in my professional opinion, no matter how much the Director disagrees, that the subject is mentally unsound, however, still fit for duty. He seems to find pleasures where a normal person simply would not. The incident with the Insurrectionists is evident enough. But yet...there is a certain strength to him."_- From the medical logs of Counselor [LEVEL ZERO CLEARANCE REQUIRED]

* * *

_Tacky_. That's the thought that came to Alaska's mind. The room wasn't all that impressive. He's been in bathrooms that looked better than this. But enough reminiscing. He tried to remember everything that happened. He remembered that they got surrounded. Some guy hit him on the back of the head, about five foot five, brown hair, scar on the right cheek, and everything went black. He woke up with his armour missing and his weapons. The other Freelancers were there as well, all restrained.

Alaska looked around the room again and finally spoke. "This colour is horrid."

York's voice rang out as soon as he heard Alaska's. "Well, it looks like the last of us is awake."

Carolina spoke as well. "I think we have more to worry about than the colour of the room."

Massachusetts moved slightly toward him, leaning in as if examining him. "Are you hurt anywhere?"

Alaska rolled his neck, letting some faint popping sounds come from it. "My head seems to be a bit sore."

Massachusetts sighed and leaned back. "Doesn't seem like a concussion. You should be fine."

Alaska noticed something as she moved away from him. "Those are some pretty nasty cuts you have," he noticed that she looked down to her arm and tried to hide it, almost ashamed. Alaska leaned his head slightly to the side. "Care to tell?"

She almost instantly shook her head. "No. I don't." Personal. That was one of the only reasons. The Innies had evidently already been busy.

The door opened and a pair of Insurrectionists walked in. They grabbed York and left, dragging him out. Alaska sighed. "Interrogation. Or torture. I would say the latter."

Massa looked at him. "What do they want?"

Carolina swiftly answered. "Probably looking for information about us and the project. My question, it was just us four in here. Where's 479er?"

Alaska leaned back. "Separation. Breaks the moral, limits communication, separates command structure, keeps us in line, might make us more compliant."

Massa stared at him. "How do you know that's what it's for?"

Alaska smiled as he looked at her. "Because it's what I would do if I caught you."

After a while, the men brought York back, throwing him onto the floor. He was in bad shape. Barely breathing, bruises and cuts all over him. They must have done a number on him. An example. They didn't really ask him any questions, just beat the shit out of him and tossed him back to break hope. A classic technique. One he used a lot. The men decided it was Alaska's turn. They grabbed him by the arms and lead him out the door.

He didn't think it was possible, and it _was_ very unlikely, but the hallway was even worse than the room he was being kept it. It lacked any colour. Alaska could handle grey, but this hall even lacked that. It was down the hall and the third door on the right. That was where they took him in and chained him to a chair and table. Alaska looked around, observing the room around him with an air of genuine interest. "You guys seriously need to get an interior designer. This place is horrible. Not even grey. I didn't think it was possible."

A large guy with no shirt, or hair walked up and looked down at him. Alaska looked up at him, his face with a slight mix of surprise and shock. "Mr Clean? What are you doing here? I thought you died years ago."

The man hit Alaska in the face. It felt like he just got hit with a dump truck. He shook his head and looked back up at Mr Clean. "This is your first time, right? You never start with the head. That's basics. The victim gets fuzzy after that. Then he can't feel the next hit."

Mr Clean brought his fist down hard on Alaska's arm, but he showed nothing. "You see? It's basics."

The man walked around him. "Who are you with? UNSC? ONI?"

Alaska sighed. "Yes. You caught me. I admit it. I was the second gunman on the grassy knoll."

The man smacked Alaska in the head and kept walking. "That armour we got from you is like SPARTAN armour. Is that what you are? SPARTANS?"

Alaska shook his head. "Spartans? No. I don't like that name. I prefer Centurions, or maybe Samurai." He was struck again as Mr Clean pulled the table away.

"Who is in charge?"

Alaska looked up, his lip bleeding and his eye beginning to swell. "A lovely man. Very inspiring. You might know him. He teaches a lot. His name is Captain. Captain Kangaroo."

Mr. Clean punched Alaska in the chest and grabbed him by the hair. "You better start talking, or I'll rearrange your face."

Alaska looked worried, with a smile. "Oh please don't. Not my face. I have a very important date soon. She's a very classy lady. Already wants to be with me. Speaking of which, I was wondering. How_ is_ your sister?"

Button pressed. Mr. Clean lost it. Alaska was being hit one after another. This must have been the guy that worked on York. He finally pulled out a knife and held it to Alaska's throat. "I'm going to fucking kill you! Talk!"

Alaska looked up at him. "You are terrible at this. Your whole technique is horrible. I'll tell you what, when I get out of here, I'll teach you how to properly interrogate someone. You can practice on each other."

Mr. Clean brought his knife back and stabbed Alaska in the gut, twisting the knife before pulling it out.

The knife showed Alaska exactly what this guy was. He was the kind of guy who liked to pull the wings off flies. The kind of guy who was easy to anger, and went blind when he was mad. Alaska was the type who was calm, no matter the situation. Mr Clean was gonna be fun. Very fun in his hands. Secretly, he hoped that the others would catch him and the Director kept him alive. Alaska wanted to have more fun.

"Get this piece of trash out of here. We'll question the others later."

The men grabbed Alaska and pulled him out of the chair and down the horrible hallway again, throwing him into the room with the others. He was moved to a wall and Massa had her hands to her front, using a torn piece of her uniform to make a dressing on his stab wound. "Al, are you alright? You look horrible."

Alaska looked down at her. "It was horrible. It's unimaginable. It's the worst torture in the world. The hallway was worse than this room itself."


	35. Chapter 34: Prison Break

**(A/N) Hello again! It's Saturday, so that means it's time for a new update. This chapter is brought to you by the excellent anna1795, from the perspective of her character, Agent Virginia. For all you guys anxious to meet our new cast of characters, you won't have to wait too much longer. :)**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-Four - Prison Break**

**Agent Virginia**

**Written by anna1795**

* * *

"_Virginia, Virginia…you know, I thought about her, and quite a lot. I can't seem to make up my mind on it. She's caring, but she can also pack a punch. She's determined, but afraid of something. And she doesn't like to talk about herself. She seems alright, but…it's like she's hiding something. Then again, don't we all have something to hide?"_ – Agent Florida's Personal Log

* * *

"Can we at least TRY to double-time it?" Virginia cringed at Pennsylvania's hiss as they ducked under trees and over vines of the jungle near New Delphi. They had all turned off their radios off except for Florida, who was keeping in tune with the MOI for information on the downed Freelancers. So far, the news was sounding bleak. There had been no developments since the "eyes in the sky" (as Virginia liked to think of the managers on the bridge of the ship) had seen Carolina and the others surrender and be taken away by the Insurrectionists. Now, the remaining Freelancers were speeding through the jungle to try and track where the Innies had gone.

"Wyoming, give me something to work with," Penn barked to the Brit, who knelt down on the ground and looked for signs of which way the Innies had gone.

"They went south from here, towards that area over there," the white-armoured Freelancer pointed south through the trees. Penn nodded.

"Wait. There's something else here," Virginia murmured, waving them over to a rather large tree with several protruding branches. A piece of fabric hung limply in the humid air, and she pulled it off the branch. It matched the same material with the armour of the Insurrectionists. "They also went north. They split here for some reason."

"How do we know that they didn't just stop here for a bit while they debated where they were going to go?" Wyoming challenged. Virginia pointed to the ground.

"I've seen this tactic before. They split off into two groups here and go around in a splinter movement back to their base. If anyone tried to follow them, then they'd split up, get confused, and fall right into a nest of snakes."

"So, where would they go then?" Penn asked.

"I think I know," Florida pulled a tablet off of his person and drew up a map. "There's a set of old mines over here. They could easily slip in there and nobody would know."

"So, we WON'T take the routes that they used, and go straight," Wyoming mused. "They'll be expecting us to come in those two directions, but we'll go straight up the middle. Then what?"

"We go in, grab the team, and get out. Simple enough," Penn shrugged, but Virginia shook her head.

"It'll take too long to go with one at a time, and they'll most likely have split them up. We need to go up the middle, like Wyoming said, but then split up and go after an assigned team mate."

"Right, so we'll go with that plan," Penn decided. "Wyoming, you go after Carolina. Florida can take York. I'll take Alaska and 479r. Virginia, you grab Massa. We'll have about ten minutes to run in there, grab them, and get out. Five minutes is more likely, though. Set your mission clocks and initiate radio silence."

"Got it!" Virginia, Florida, and Wyoming answered in unison.

"Right," Penn said finally. "Let's move." They took off again through the trees, still treading carefully so as not to draw too much attention. Sure enough, true to Florida's word, a dilapidated mine shaft came into view, looking nondescript and unassuming. The groups of soldiers and armoured vehicles swarming around the place, however, were a different story.

Virginia looked over to Penn, who held up a fist to hold them in position. He pointed to Wyoming, who snuck around to the northeast. As soon as he was out of sight, Penn pointed to Florida and directed him southwest. Finally, the team leader looked to Virginia, tapped his wrist twice, and pointed her slightly more west than south. With a salute, Virginia took off at a run, using the protruding tree roots and her training to her advantage to maintain careful silence.

She braked suddenly and ducked behind a tree trunk as a pair of soldiers marched into view, both carrying assault rifles. She drew a serrated knife from its sheath, took a deep inhale, exhaled slowly, and counted in her mind. 1…2…3! With a burst of energy, she leapt out at the petrified soldiers and plunged her blade into the unprotected gap between one soldier's helmet and his armored chest. With a gurgle and sigh, he collapsed to the ground. Wasting no time, she grabbed the other's rifle in her armoured hand, twisted it harshly from his grip, and slammed him against a tree with her elbow at his neck. Before a sound could be made, she had the knife under his ear.

"You're going to answer a question for me and do it right, or I'll shove this up into your brain. Got that?!" Virginia hissed, applying more pressure to her elbow and constricting his windpipe. The soldier gagged and weakly nodded his head. "Injured soldier, in armour like mine, woman with brown hair, taken into your base. Where is she?"

After a moment of continued gagging, the soldier spat out, "South entrance, take a left, third door on the right. Can't miss it."

"Good," Virginia muttered. With a snarl, she slammed the tip of her knife upward behind the man's ear and into his brain stem, then gave a vicious twist. The Innie in her grip stiffened for one second and went immediately slack the next, having no time to scream. Carefully, Virginia lowered him so that he was leaning against the tree, his lolling head obscuring the fatal wound to the head. Sheathing her knife, Virginia made sure her sniper rifle was secured to her back, grabbed one of the rifles, and snuck off again.

It didn't take long for said entrance to come into view, guarded by at least twenty soldiers and a Scorpion tank. She hid in a clump of bushes again as a pair of headlights skimmed over the top. Then, thinking quickly, she opened up her radio channel slightly and sent a ping off to a certain pilot.

"Yello! This is 343-R, ace Pelican pilot extraordinaire! What can I do you for?"

"Hey, it's Virginia. I'm sending you some coordinates. Care to come and give us a lift?" she whispered.

"Can do, missy. I knew this Pelican would come in handy for picking up chicks someday!" the male pilot crowed on the other end. With a shake of her head, Virginia signed off.

"Hey, I think I heard something over here!" One of the soldiers shouted, and Virginia tensed. Had they heard her discussion? It really HAD been too risky to break radio silence! However, out of the corner of her visor, she saw them running west of her position. She realized that they must have been distracted by something of Florida's. The Scorpion's turret turned in a different direction than where she was, as did the lights flooding from around the mine entrance. Using a sudden burst of speed, Virginia bolted for the entrance, using the rifle to mow down three soldiers that squawked at her charge, and dove through the entrance just as all the attention was turned back to where three bodies lay crumpled in the dirt. Florida would have to take care of himself from here.

True to her victim's instructions, there was a hallway on the immediate left, and Virginia slid into that to come face to face with five heavily armed Innies. She used her last three shots on the first two, shuffled backwards to avoid returned fire, and grabbed her sniper rifle. She rolled from her position and took aim, her bullets slamming into the face, chest, and stomach of two of her enemies. The last one was still standing, but not after a carefully aimed knife that lodged itself between his eyes. The last soldier fell, but Virginia's entrance hadn't necessarily been quiet. She could hear more soldiers on the way. She needed to hurry.

"Massa!" Virginia called into the third door on the right, and a pained moan was her only answer. Wasting no time with the ancient wooden door, Virginia kicked it in and grabbed her roommate, who had been carelessly dropped on the floor of the old cell. Dust and blood mixed together with who knew what else to make a nasty sludge for the unconscious woman to be laying in, and it had caked and dried on her face. Virginia holstered her rifle and scooped up her slighter teammate in a fireman's carry. Massa was a lightweight, but Virginia knew that she couldn't hold her teammate up forever if she was chased.

"Virginia?" Another voice called. "That you out there?" It was cracked and pain-laden, but there was no mistaking the voice of York. She rushed out of the cell, saw Florida join her, and pointed to where she heard York's voice come from, right across the hall. Florida took out the lock with a shot from his newly acquired shotgun, and it flew open with a bang.

York leaned against the doorway, his tan armour missing, replaced with a tattered t-shirt and trousers, his body covered in bruises and scratches, blood that trickled from scars on his face. He gave a weak grin as Florida put his arm over his shoulder. "What took you guys?" he croaked. A large bruise was turning ugly shades of green and purple on his throat. He had apparently said the wrong things to the wrong people.

"Good to see you too, York," Florida greeted the wounded Freelancer jovially. "I suppose we should take our leave?"

Virginia stopped him before he could move. "What's happened to their armour?"

"Innies took it. Were very interested in it, apparently. Penn said he'd, and I quote, 'deal with it'."

"Okay, then. Let's get out of here. 343-R should be right outside," Virginia said, directing them to the doorway. The sound of approaching Insurrectionists were DEFINITELY getting louder now. They started hustling towards the south entrance of the mine and escaped the musty air. Virginia and Florida both paused. They could see enemy soldiers running towards their position outside.

"Florida, want to help me give them a little present?" Virginia took out a frag grenade.

"I was just thinking the same thing," Florida nodded, drawing out another grenade. With careful throws, they pulled the pins and chucked the two weapons through the hole in the earth and took off running towards the trees, their charges in tow.

Virginia ducked behind a tree and pressed Massa close to her chest while Florida did the same with York. A few seconds later, and the ground literally shook under their feet. Rock and debris exploded upwards as part of the ground caved in and sank around their exit, trapping everything inside the section of the mine. The earth split and threatened to spiderweb to the jungle, but stopped partway and simply caved into the enormous fissure. The mine, and their pursuers, were gone forever.

The branches of the trees blew in all directions as a large aircraft appeared overhead. A Pelican dropped from the sky and hovered expectantly over the scarred surface. "Where am I supposed to land?!" 343-R asked indignantly over the radio. Virginia and Florida simply carried York and Massa over the remaining boulders to the closest available point and kind of tossed them haphazardly onto the Pelican. Virginia strapped the two injured Freelancers into available seats while Florida went to speak with the pilot. York had just passed out.

"Attention, passengers. This is your captain speaking. We will be departing from this airport terminal at a breakneck pace to scoop up a few other stragglers over on the other side and then make a beeline for our destination, the Mother of Invention. I'd strap in if I were you, boys and girls. The medical staff getting ready for our injured guests will probably NOT appreciate an extra load to their work. Refreshments are not served on this flight. Have a good day!" 343-R spoke cheekily and haughtily over the loudspeaker and signed off with a snap. Virginia could only shake her head as she checked Massa's pulse examined a large cut on York's head. She looked over slowly at Florida, who stood in the entrance to the cockpit.

"Nothing," he said quietly. "I won't disturb you." The blue-armoured Freelancer sat down quietly and strapped in, obviously very tired. They all would be, Virginia mused as she took a seat next to Massa while 343-R spun the plane around in a daredevil manoeuver and hovered close to the ground. She was barely coherent as Wyoming half-carried Carolina onto the deck or Penn pulling 479r from his shoulder so that he could finish hauling a mumbling Alaska on board, muttering vaguely about how the missing armour had been "taken care of". By the time the door had closed and they were speeding upwards, she was already dead asleep.


	36. Chapter 35: The General

**(A/N) Hey everyone. As you've probably all realised, there was no Monday update this week. This was due in part to some problems with chapter deadlines, and somewhat due to my rather hectic timetable at the moment, but stick with us. We'll only have two updates this week, but next week we'll be back on track, and my exams will be over! Hurrah! **

**Enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-Five - The General**

**The Director**

**Written by NicKenny**

* * *

_"I know where you live and I've seen where you sleep. I swear to everything holy that your mothers will cry when they see what I've done to you." - Michelle (Tommy Boy)._

* * *

I sat at my desk, reflecting over the debriefing that myself and the Counselor had just carried out with our five rescued operatives. Their reports where harrowing, and the injuries that they had received would take a long time to heal, time that we did not have. Not after recent developments. The sum of their reports had been largely unsurprising, hours of torture, both mental and physical, but they had not passed any information of worth over to the Insurgency.

However, they had questions of their own for me. In particular, Agent Alaska wanted to know what his interrogator had meant when he had asked each of the agents in turn whether or not they were Spartans, and it was with a heavy heart that I informed the agents that a project similar to ours had been unveiled to the public three months ago, in an attempt to quell the mass hysteria surrounding the Covenant threat.

The information would have reached the agents sooner or later, especially when the new recruits, who hadn't been largely isolated from the outside world for the last seven months, arrived, but I still had my concerns about how this would affect the agents. The added competition might encourage them, but for some of our…less patient agents, I could only worry about the lengths that they would go to in order to catch up.

My hand flicked briefly over the surface of my data-pad, pulling up the files of the eight agents awaiting our return on Eris. Six male, two female, all exceptional. My eyes darted over from the holographic table to the leaderboard at the opposite side of the room, and focused on the first name on the board. I smiled for a second, wondering if any of our new recruits would create the sort of upset that would revolutionise the board.

I pulled up the first file, staring into the deadened eyes of a Caucasian male, his head shaved right up to the skull, his features drawn tight into a scowl. I had followed his career in the UNSC for some time, anxious to find a recruit that could match Agent Pennsylvania in brute force, and in him, I had found one. He had been described by several of his superior officers as a monster, or a freak of nature, but I was fascinated by this agent, and his condition. He would prove a considerable asset to the project, of that I had no doubt.

The next file, that of a young black man, his dark hair short, his hazel eyes sparking with determination. This recruit's skillsets would prove pivotal in the upcoming missions, for we had been relying far too heavily on some of our agents up until now. He would find a use for his talents here, which had been neglected by the bureaucrats in the UNSC's High Command. His temperament might be more withdrawn than I would have preferred, and his actions more unpredictable, but I had faith in him. My only concern was over his past, and how that would affect him in the field, but ultimately, I felt that this was a problem that could only be broached at the right moment. He would do for now.

The next two recruits' files came up together, reflecting the status of their birth. Joining the UNSC together, the two had quickly advanced up through the ranks, catching my eye with their teamwork and undeniable prowess in battle. If I had high expectations over any of the recruits, it was this pair. They would shine in Project Freelancer, of that I had no doubt, and they would rise up our ranks as quickly as they had in the UNSC. The girl was a firebrand, however, with a short fuse and a foul mouth. I was relying on her brother to keep her in line, or her time in Project Freelancer might be short. Whatever the failings of the original group of agents, they had quickly learned the necessity of teamwork.

The next one had somewhat surprised the officials with whom I had lodged my transfer request. He was a good soldier, but not as exceptional in battle as the others had been. However, these were not the attributes that I was interested in in his case. His I.Q. had proven to be untestable by modern methods, surpassing even the most difficult of tests assigned to him. At least, in his area of interest. While his strategy lacked inspiration, and his understanding of the human psyche, could, at times, be flawed, his ability as a technician was unmatched within the UNSC. Indeed, I had, only a short time ago, purchased his plans for a fully-operational mechanised soldier. I had high hopes for that particular project.

The next soldier had been chosen for his experience against the enemies that we found ourselves facing, the burn that scarred his face serving as a constant reminder of his past. His expertise would prove invaluable, provided that he did not allow his past to cloud his judgement when in the field. Of all the recruits, he was the one that I knew I could trust, as long as Project Freelancer could help him on his path to vengeance.

The second woman was a good deal smaller physically than our other agents, her petite frame lending her a sense a frailty, and, if I hadn't seen videos of her in action, I wouldn't be able to believe that she had been the heavy-weapons specialist in a squad of high-ranking ODST's. She was another one that I could put my trust in. She had lost everything to the war. There was nowhere else she could turn if she abandoned the project.

The last recruit that appeared before me bore the same look of disdain, self-confidence, determination and hostility that had caused me to recruit Agent Pennsylvania. While this agent did not have the same physical strength that made Pennsylvania such a valuable asset, he had more to lose, which would drive him to even further ends, if indeed that was possible.

Soon, they would know what it means to be an agent within Project Freelancer, and all the good and the bad that came with it. It would be…interesting to see how they assimilated into the project. I had no doubt that several of the agents would be openly hostile to the idea, but that was irrelevant. We needed the extra manpower, particularly if we were to enter the war with the Covenant, which, indeed, was the sole purpose of this project.

They would have to put their differences aside and see the bigger picture. In order fight a war, you cannot allow yourself any delusion of self-grandeur or self-importance. The needs of humanity _must _take precedence over your own personal pride.

My thoughts, as always, we eventually interrupted by the monotonous voice of the Counselor, forcing me to cast aside my train of thought and pride, and listen to his tedious assessments. He walked in silently, passing by the guards at the entrance without a word, as they had long ago learned that "Do not disturb" did not apply to him.

"I trust that you have seen and read my report," he murmured from behind me, and I turned off the holographic projector, turning to face him.

I nodded, a wry grin appearing on my face. "I couldn't help but notice that you were about as optimistic about these recruits as you had been about the original batch."

He frowned, his brow furrowing, as he detected the slight jab. I couldn't help my smile widen even further. Apparently he wasn't as oblivious to hidden insults as I had previously thought. "I am sorry if my findings displeased you Director, but the facts are the facts. Amongst the symptoms observed, I detected characteristics of post-traumatic stress, extreme narcissism, obsession and possible bipolarism."

I raised my eyebrow in mock surprise. "Really? Are you sure your findings haven't been a trifle…exaggerated?"

His frown deepened, if indeed that was possible. "That was just Agent California," he replied, emphasising the agent's name in finality. "And he is one of the least worrying of the group. One of the agents in particular…Director, I apologise if this comes across as disrespectful, but did you not learn the lessons of Agent Pennsylvania?"

It was my turn to frown now, annoyed at this example of insubordination. "I assume you are referring to the Agent Pennsylvania that is currently our second-highest ranking agent, and one of our key field leaders? The same Agent Pennsylvania who so successfully carried out the assassination of a leading member of the Insurrection? The _same _Agent Pennsylvania who, only yesterday, led a team of our agents to successfully carry out the rescue of five captured operatives? Believe me Counselor, I have learned my lesson in regards to that particular agent."

He only sighed, and looked down at the data-pad in his hand. "Still, at least none of _this _batch of agents have rampant schizophrenia, paranoia or dissociative identity disorder. These I can work with."

His brow furrowed once more as he looked down at his data-pad, and I couldn't help but replying: "I must confess Counselor, I am surprised. It almost seems like you _approve _of my personnel selections."

"In this case, I am prepared to work with them," he curtly replied, "I never gave any indication to suggest that I approved."

"Director, we are receiving an incoming transmission. Do you want me to patch it through?" F.I.L.S.S.'s voice rang out throughout the room, surprising both of us.

"Another HIGHCOM message, F.I.L.S.S.?" I asked, half-tempted to tell her to sever the connection, but her response surprised me.

"No, Director. I am not able to pinpoint the broadcasting point of this transmission, nor does it adhere to any broadcasts we've received from the UNSC in the past. Indeed, judging by the signal strength, it is coming to us from a far closer location than our normal liaisons within the UNSC."

I glanced at the Counselor, and his features expressed the same surprise that I felt. "Patch it through F.I.L.S.S.," I eventually ordered, "Let's see who's so anxious to talk with us."

With that command the screen displaying the leaderboard went black, and then flickered for a moment, before revealing a rather weary-looking old man, in a general's official regalia, his mouth set in a grim line, his eyes giving a glimpse of the fire and determination that raged within a seemingly decrepit body. I had a vague feeling of recognition, almost as if I had seen this man somewhere before, but a name didn't spring to mind. His eyes focused on mine and his lips tightened, his eyes narrowed, and a general look of distaste settled over his features.

"You must be…Director Leonard Church, of Project Freelancer," he rasped, in a voice like sandpaper.

"I don't know about 'must be'," I replied, "But yes, indeed, I am. And who are you, if I may be so bold as to inquire?"

He smiled for a moment, a sudden, fleeting image that showed no mirth, but a grim, smug mockery. "I am the man…you have been searching for…Director. I am the leader of the United Revolutionary Front…for my sins."

He smiled at my obvious surprise, shaking his head slightly. "No doubt you were…expecting someone a little…younger," he wheezed, his sentence a statement, not a question.

I stared at him, silently motioning to the Counselor to track the transmission behind my back, and laughed quietly. "While I must confess that I _am _a little surprised, I have long ago learned the value of experience over youth. I am not a young man myself, the best days of my life are long behind me. But I assume you haven't called to reminisce about how things were better in the 'good old days', so I must ask, why are you calling, and how did you find out my name?"

The man smiled again, before bursting into a bout of coughing that did not subside for a good minute. "I have called, Director…to tell you that I know who you are. I know…what you are. And I know how to…hurt you. You may have made my men bleed on Haven, but I…will make you bleed twice…as hard as they did. You have made an enemy…in us, Mr Church. And we will _end _you!"

The last few words were delivered with some venom that I was forced to take a step back, then, nonplussed, I cocked my head, staring at him in obvious confusion. "I am sorry, but my project was not solely responsible for your defeat on Haven. Captain Vasquez of the _Soul of Tranquillity _played an equally vital role. Why is it that we have attracted your attention?"

"I would ask your Agent Pennsylvania…Director. We did not launch an attack on…your project, but you, without provocation, attacked us, and we…will not let that lie. For the loss of our men, and of Colonel…James Allen, we will have our vengeance…Eat…drink…and be merry, Director…for today…is the first day…of what is _left _of your life."

I stared at him, still unable to understand the reasons behind the obvious hate that he was directing towards me. While I could understand that he would be infuriated by our work on Haven, why would _we _be signalled out, when our very participation was under duress, at the request of the UNSC. Suddenly, I realised where I had recognised him from, and suddenly everything made sense. He bore so many of the same features as the face that I had only seen in the video recordings of Penn and Alaska's mission on Haven.

"How was Colonel Allen related to you?" I asked softly, noticing a tear suddenly well up in the corner of the man's eye.

"He was my brother," he replied then the connection collapsed, and the transmission broke off, leaving me staring for a moment at a blank screen.

"Did you manage to trace the transmission?" I asked, turning to the Counselor, who shook his head in reply.

"No. They were bouncing the signal off several locations over a four planet area, Haven and its neighbours: Harmony, Aurora and Byzantium. He could be anywhere on those four planets, the signal locations were quite spread out."

I nodded slowly to myself, reflecting on the general's words. "Bring me the files on Colonel James Allen, F.I.L.S.S.," I ordered, striding back to my desk. "Let us find out exactly what we are dealing with here."

The Counselor frowned, then asked "Should I alert the agents of this threat, Director?"

I raised an eyebrow, then slowly shook my head. "No, Counselor. Best that they remain impartial in the fight ahead. We are fighting an army made up mostly of dissatisfied civilians, remember. Better that they remain in the dark, so later men will not be able to label us as monsters. We kill only who we need to. We _pacify_, not destroy."

But privately, in the confines of my own head, I added a final three sentences. _But if they mean to seek war, then they shall not find us unprepared. If they want to fight, then they will get one. And we will see who will _end _who."_


	37. Chapter 36: Evaluating The Damage

**(A/N) Ok everyone, here's our latest update from everyone's favourite medic, Killian Jay! Written, as always, by Casaric. For anyone out there interested in taking part in this collab, or in future collaborations associated with this project, please check out our forum now! It's titled The Freelancer Collaboration within the RvB forums. **

**Enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-Six - Evaluating The Damage**

******Killian Jay – Private First Class, Medic**

******Written by Casaric**

* * *

_"I remember, after the battle of New Delhi, for the first time, seeing those Agents...well, broken. I remember the angle that Carolina's arm was at, and how much blood Massa had lost. I could see it, the way their eyes were a just a little darker. Some part of them had died down there on Haven, and not even I can bring back the dead." - _Killian Jay, personal logs_._

* * *

Medical Log 0121

Pvt. First Class, Killian Jay – Combat Medic

–/–/– **{Date Redacted, as Requested by Head of Medical Staff}**

* * *

Patient Information. Event, Prior.

I. Name. -**{Redacted}**

II. Call-sign or Alias. - **Agent Carolina**

III. Medical Conditions. - **None**

IV. Physical State Prior to Event. - **Excellent**

V. Mental State Prior to Event. - **Sane**

VI. Gender. - **Female**

VII. Notes. - **Torture may have effected Carolina's psyche more than the other Agents, due to her standing on the board. Psyche treatment may be necessary if mental state is too severe, though I doubt this.**

* * *

Patient Information. Event, Prior.

I. Name. -**{Redacted}**

II. Call-sign or Alias. - **Agent York**

III. Medical Conditions. - **None**

IV. Physical State Prior to Event. - **Excellent**

V. Mental State Prior to Event. - **Sane**

VI. Gender. - **Male**

VII. Notes. - **Seems more lax in nature that other Freelancers and while not unaffected by the torture, did seem more resilient to the mental effects. ****Routine Mental and Physical exams are still in order.**

* * *

Patient Information. Event, Prior.

I. Name. -**{Redacted}**

II. Call-sign or Alias. - **Agent****Alaska**

III. Medical Conditions. - **Possibility of ****Schizophrenia**

IV. Physical State Prior to Event. - **Excellent**

V. Mental State Prior to Event. -** Debatable**

VI. Gender. - **Male**

VII. Notes. - **This guy is kinda creepy.** **Agent Alaska seems...oddly unaffected by the torture. This may be a sign of mental trauma, and he's just hiding it... or he's really just that ****fucking crazy****resilient to both mental and physical trauma. Standard mental and physical exams will still have to ****be carried out, as per protocol.**

* * *

Patient Information. Event, Prior.

I. Name. -**{Redacted}**

II. Call-sign or Alias. - **Agent Massachusetts**

III. Medical Conditions. - **None**

IV. Physical State Prior to Event. - **Excellent**

V. Mental State Prior to Event. - **Sane**

VI. Gender. - **Female**

VII. Notes. - **Agent Massachusetts took some serious damage. She pulled though, luckily, and I don't expect serious mental trauma, but Jesus Christ, how can someone loose that much blood and still be alive?**

* * *

Patient Information. Event, Prior.

I. Name. -**{Redacted}**

II. Call-sign or Alias. - **479er**

III. Medical Conditions. - **None**

IV. Physical StatePrior to Event. - **Great**

V. Mental State Prior to Event. - **Sane**

VI. Gender. - **Female**

VII. Notes. -**...Why is it the people I actually like keep getting brutally mauled?**** 479er sustained some injury from pelican crash. Torture also inflicted wounds. Knowing her, I really don't have to worry about her mental state.**

* * *

Killian is a medic. He is payed to care about his patients'. In a profession like his, it can be hard to find "genuine" care. Killian genuinely cares for his patients'. Which is to say, he dislikes it when the people he works with get shot out of the sky and tortured.

Killian wanted to surgically remove each limb from every Insurrectionist who ever existed with a rusty spoon...starting with the toes.

The medic shook himself free from his thoughts of murder, and cast a sidelong glance at the examination room door. He had a job to do, and standing out in the hall like an idiot was not going to get it done.

He adjusted his posture, always best to appear like you know what you're doing, even if you don't, and walked in, the metallic door opening quietly. The room within was small, and rather plain, containing a couple of chairs, one of which was occupied, and a single table.

The other room's current occupant glanced up at the approaching medic, but didn't seem to acknowledge his presence beyond that.

"Agent Massachusetts?" Killian asked, making his way to the open seat.

The Freelancer nodded in confirmation. She looked weak, and tired. She needed to be in bed, recovering from a plane crash and torture. Not in an examination room.

Killian was now comfortably situated in the seat opposite his current 'patient'.

"...I'm going to ask you two questions. I want you answer them truthfully."

Another nod.

"Do you think you will recover?"

A hesitant nod.

"Are you sane?"

A nod.

Killian sighed. "Okay. That's all I needed. Do you want me to get someone to help you back to your room? Or do you think you can make it?"

"...Yes." Her voice was quiet and strained.

"Okay, let me go grab Ted..."

* * *

It wasn't that Killian didn't like Agent Alaska. He just felt the need to be cautious around him. And Penn. Killian was still a little pissed about that whole triple-overtime bullshit, actually.

But this was Alaska. Not Penn. Nevertheless...

"Are you in good physical condition?"

"Yes."

"Are you in good mental condition?"

"Yes."

"Alright, we're done here."

Killian tries to limit the amount of time spent with either Freelancer.

* * *

479er was a friend. Killian did not like seeing his friends hurt. It made him think murderous thoughts.

"...They actually managed to shoot you down?" Killian asked in mock-disbelief.

"It was a lucky shot." 479er replied, quick to defend her piloting ability.

"Or a lot of missiles." Killian pointed out.

"Like I said, it was a lucky shot." 479er said, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Right..." Killian, master of sarcasm.

"Shut-up Killian..." 479er does not appreciate his 'art'.

The medic held up his hands in mock surrender to the female pilot.

"Fine, fine. No more sarcastic remarks." Killian said with a sigh, giving in to her implied demands.

"Good. You were starting to give me head-ache."

"...So our usually bull-shit aside, how are you holding up?" Killian asked, trying to get back on track.

"Better. A lot better than before."

"I'm glad to hear it. Hopefully you'll be flying again pretty soon, huh?"

"Yeah..."

"You wanna grab a beer later?"

"Sure."

479er's Examinations, when Performed by Killian Jay, usually weren't really examinations at all.

* * *

Killian likes to think that he and York are 'friends'...Getting completely wasted and passing out after watching a freaking awesome game of Grifball makes people friends...right?

"...Yeah, everything checks out here. You are as healthy and as sane as humanly possible after what you went through."

"Alright, thanks doc."

"Do you know how many people are going to be showing up for Grifball? I need to know how much beer to bring..."

Yes. Yes it does.

* * *

Carolina's examination was short, and to the point. No need to be all formal after doing four of the damn things.

"Are you healthy?"

"Yeah."

"Are you sane?"

"I like to think I am, doc."

Killian sighed and shook his head, getting an odd look from Carolina in response. "See, as far as I can tell, you can't be sane and a Freelancer at the same time. It just doesn't work like that."

* * *

Killian exhaled slowly, rubbing his temples. He had finally finished those post-examination medical reports and all he had to do now was deliver them to the Director.

"Is it bad that doctor wants a beer?" Killian mumbled, pulling himself away from his desk. Those reports weren't going to deliver themselves.

* * *

Killian stepped out of the Director's office, and starting banging his head against the nearby wall. It helped to relive the massive head-ache that was starting to come on.

"Eight_thump_more_thump_fucking_thump_medicals_thump_for_thump_eight_thump_more_thump_fucking_thump_freelancers_thumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthump__." _The medic's sentence was broken by the sound of his head smashing into the hard steel wall.


	38. Chapter 37: Recovering

**(A/N) Hey guys, sorry about the lack of update yesterday, but here's Monday's chapter. Finished my exams, and hopefully everything will have gone well, so there should be no more late updates. *fingers crossed*The after party got a little blurry, which resulted in the lack of update, and my subsequent hangover meant that now is the earliest I could get it posted. **

**Enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-Seven – Recovering**

**Agent Massachusetts**

**Written by Ayane458**

* * *

_"Miss, it's what happens when someone is shoved into an already tight-knit group. Doesn't matter how nice and polite they are. There's always going to be some resentment."_

- Sergeant David Larsen to the squad's medic.

* * *

Virginia led the way through the halls that day; every so often glancing back to ensure Massa was still there. Every so often glancing down to her right arm before flicking her eyes away.

Massa sighed, suddenly longing for the security (and cover) of her armour. It was still being repaired after the… incident. The bastards had had their engineers try to study it, look into it to see if they could replicate it. Took it apart into tiny pieces. Armour was not an option at this moment in time.

Instead, Massa wore the standard-issue t-shirt and loose pants and Virginia wore the same, the only difference between their outfits the shade of green on the shirt. It felt far too light and flimsy to be facing the world with.

Fifteen minutes ago FILSS had announced that the Director wished to see all the Freelancers in the briefing room for some news. Massa honestly had no idea what it could be about –normally it was a training simulation or new mission he was announcing, but she sincerely doubted that any of those would appear for a while. Not with more than half of the team temporarily out of action.

As they entered, Massa crossed her arms, effectively hiding most of her right arm from the other Freelancers. She noted Carolina doing the same with her injury, angling herself so her own recovering arm seemed insignificant. Massa suspected it was for a different reason – Carolina would want to cover up any sign of weakness. Massa just wanted to hide any reminder of an event she wanted wiped from her memory. The stitches across her forehead were one thing (they'd had to shave some of her hair off, damn it) because that was just from a plane crash. Nothing she hadn't been expecting in her line of work.

Being captured also kind of fit into that category.

Torture wasn't something she'd been expecting. Losing more blood than any human being had any right to lose and live to tell the tale wasn't something she'd been expecting.

At least the majority of her newfound scars were easily hidden.

"Agents," the Director greeted, and on instinct they all stood straight with arms to their sides. Massa returned to her previous position the second he nodded in acknowledgement.

"In light of recent events," he continued, cutting straight to the point, "where several of our agents were incapacitated and we were left with limited resources..."

Massa observed the room at these comments, the Director's description of all the pain that had been inflicted on them. She was surprised to see little resentment to his words –Carolina appeared ashamed, York resigned, and Alaska remained mostly impassive.

So it was only her who felt like slapping the Director's glasses off his face for dismissing days of repeating rank, file and number as being 'incapacitated'.

"…I have gained approval to bring more agents on board the Mother of Invention. They are currently waiting on Eris, and shall arrive tomorrow."

Instantly, Massa felt dread settle in her stomach, her scars and all they represented forgotten for now. She had something new to focus on.

These new agents would –hopefully –not purposely bring any harm to the table. But the current Freelancers had only just barely learned to get along and act as anything resembling a team.

These new agents would skew the dynamics they had been building over the weeks. Intentional or not, they would be an issue.

Massa resolved to welcome them with open arms, but could see already that it was really only York and Florida who would do the same and mean it.

"Sir," Carolina spoke up slowly, "is this really necessary? Despite recent... events… we've suffered no losses and have levelled large Insurrectionist forces. We're doing fine."

"Agent Carolina, how long do you think it will be before we suffer events far worse than what we've been through?" the Director challenged, meeting her eyes until she backed off. "Three Freelancers and one of our pilots have barely escaped permanent damage or worse this past week. Do any of you deny the use larger numbers could be?"

No one spoke.

"Dismissed."

The Freelancers slowly filed out, Carolina hastily walking in the direction that would either take her to the training hall or the cafeteria, York scurrying along behind her. Virginia gestured at Massa, inviting her back to their room, and Massa smiled and shrugged weakly. She needed to sort some things out.

Once Florida, Wyoming and Alaska had scattered, Penn seemed to take note of her presence.

"Hey," she greeted, keeping her voice neutral. She wasn't sure if trying to be friendly would be taken as an insult somehow, or bring up memories of her last attempt at 'friendliness'.

Penn nodded a greeting back. "How's your arm?"

Massa sighed and uncrossed her arms, giving him a good view of the scars running up and down her right arm, from the base of her wrist until they disappeared up her sleeve. Her injuries were centred on her forearm.

"No permanent damage," she shrugged, because there hadn't been. "Stings, sometimes. And the whole area feels tight. I think they were holding the whole threat of serious, irreversible injury over us as some secondary form of torture, you know? Make us want to spill quickly so we get out with our limbs intact and our bodies working. Lucky for me I'm left-handed…" Realising she was rambling, she shut up.

Penn observed her with slightly narrowed eyes. "For someone who's supposed to be one of the more compassionate ones around here, you seem to have a basic grip on psychological torture."

"Maybe I missed my calling," Massa muttered. Then louder, "Look… thanks for the rescue."

Penn shrugged it off. "I was following orders and I wasn't the only one who saved you. No need to thank me."

"You successfully led the team that got me, Carolina, York, Alaska and Niner out of there before they did anything too damaging," Massa replied. "Thanks."

Penn considered this for a moment, then accepted her gratitude with a nod. "I guess this means you owe me one."

"Hey, you were just following orders, right? Don't get too pushy," Massa grinned, and Penn just stared flatly. She feared she'd blown whatever chance of resolving their issues she had, but Penn just shook his head in a manner that might've hinted at exasperation and walked off.

Massa elected to interpret that as 'I don't necessarily like you, but we're cool'. And she could live with that.

It was best to get any and all bad feelings between the current Freelancers gone now.

God knows there's gonna be a whole lot of issues once the new guys settle in.


	39. Chapter 38: New Kids on the Block

**(A/N) Hey guys, ecstatic to announce the new story arc, following the introduction of the eight new rookies into Project Freelancer, and they are North, South, Maine, Georgia, Arkansas, California, Michigan and Minnesota. This chapter opens up this arc, and is from the POV of my own OC, the aptly named Ark, for our new arc. Too much? Sorry. **

**Anyway, hope you all enjoy this chapter and am as hyped up as I am to see what these new writers have in store for us. Watch this space! We're also looking for writers for a Grifball fic and an X-Ray and Vav fic. More info can be found on our forum, along with the application forms for the Grifball fic (still looking for interest for poor old X-Ray and Vav, although I have begun working on a pilot chapter).**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-Eight – New Kids on the Block**

**Agent Arkansas**

**Written by NicKenny**

* * *

"_He that has eyes to see and ears to hear may convince himself that no mortal can keep a secret. If his lips are silent, he chatters with his fingertips; betrayal oozes out of him at every pore." _- Sigmund Freud

* * *

'_Keep calm. You know why you're doing this. You know what you want from this project, and they just want your ability to point a gun. Well, and some other stuff too. Just sit back and observe, it's what your best at. Remember why you're here.'_

Ark's thought process, attempting to mentally reassure himself and remove the sense of dread that had so inexplicably fallen onto him, was suddenly interrupted by the pelican's pilot, who called back to the assembled recruits. "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome aboard Project Freelancer Airlines, our E.T.A. is in approximately fifteen minutes, as the _Mother of Invention _is currently just outside Eris' troposphere. Our pilot would like you to sit back and enjoy the flight, and the hostess with the in-flight snacks will be along shortly."

The man sitting across from Ark, a rather graphic burn running along the side of his face, raised his eyebrows at Ark questioningly. "Is that dude for real?" he asked, a note of disbelief in his voice.

The pilot's voice quickly rang out in response, coming from the cockpit where the connecting door stood half-open. "Ooh, dissing the pilot. I sure hope you won't ever need me to pick you up in the middle of a fire-fight, kid, because I won't be putting my ass on the line for someone as wet behind the ears as you anytime soon."

"You do realise, don't you, that we've been hired as super-soldiers," the scarred man asked, shaking his head slightly, raising his voice so as to make sure that the pilot could hear him. "Don't make me come up there and kick your ass!"

Even from here, Ark could hear the pilot's amused chuckle, and hear the sneer in his voice. "Kid," he began, "Don't get me started on super-soldiers. You wait 'til you see the guys who came before you. One thing that I've learned in my time here in Project Freelancer, everyone bleeds the same way. I shouldn't even be the one making this pick-up anyway, wasn't supposed to be my gig."

Curiosity piqued Ark glanced over to the half-shut door separating the new recruits hold from the cockpit. "Why? What happened to the other guy?"

The pilot paused for a moment before replying, his voice sounding slightly more sombre. "Trust me mate, you don't want to know. She's alive though, that's the important thing."

The scarred man chuckled to himself and rolled his eyes. "Well, you know what they say about women flyers."

There was a slight moment of tension as the two female recruits took this opportunity to glare daggers at him, before the pilot responded with a bitter "Nice one dude. Fucking classy," and shut the door fully.

Ark stared at him, his eyebrows raised. "Smooth," he murmured, and felt the general consensus side with him. The guy just shrugged slightly, his movement impeded by the harness, and smiled.

"It's who I am, love me or hate me," he said, grinning toothily, before adding, almost as an afterthought, "California, Cal for short."

Ark smiled slightly back to him, shaking his head. The recruits hadn't met each other before their pelican flight to the project's frigate, despite the fact that Ark, at the very least, had been on Eris for two weeks. For whatever reason, they had been kept apart, quartered in different areas of the main Freelancer command post on the planet, only given their new codenames, no information, no explanation, no nothing. "Arkansas, guess I'll go with Ark. It's got a bit of a ring to it."

He glanced over at the other agents, starting with the two sitting next to Cal, one male and one female, both blonde, with more than a certain passing resemblance to each other. "You two?"

The two recruits glanced at each other, and the girl shrugged slightly. The guy turned back and smiled warmly, a genuine act of friendliness. "North Dakota, and this is South," he replied, nodding to the girl sitting next to him, who promptly scowled.

"I'm fully able to introduce myself…North."

Ark made the connection, smiling back at North. "Brother and sister?"

North laughed. "Twins."

Ark repeated the process with the others. The small man to his left replied with a cheery "Georgia" and a wide grin, the petite blonde next to him smiled self-consciously and introduced herself as Michigan, and the dark-haired man next to her hesitated briefly before answering "Minnesota". The group's attention then fall onto the man that they had all been attempting to avoid, his massive frame barely fitting into the harness, his bald head gleaming in the light of the pelican's interior.

"Maine," he grunted, and made it clear that that was the end to it, raising his eyes to stare at the ceiling.

"So, super-soldiers?" North offered after a brief moment of awkwardness. "Reckon they're going to turn us into those Spartans the news feeds have been so full of lately?"

South snorted next to him. "North, those guys are eight feet tall! Unless they're planning on stretching you I reckon it's going to be something a little more realistic."

Next to Ark, the guy called Georgia stirred and stared at the pair of twins in interest. "Actually, with recent breakthroughs in physical augmentations means that you probably could be made eight feet tall. Of course, it'd be extraordinarily painful, and the chances of you surviving the process wouldn't be great, but hey, we're all gonna die someday, right?"

He noticed the odd looks on his fellow recruits' faces and visibly sagged. "Just saying."

The pilot's voice suddenly rang out over the intercom within the pelican. "We are about to dock in the _Mother of Invention, _please keep your safety harnesses on until the little light turns off, and please recommend PF Airlines to all your friends and family. The time is eighteen-oh-seven and the temperature is currently twenty-six degrees."

Cal's voice rang up at once. "What? It's not twenty-six degrees out here, that's freezing!"

The pilot sighed over the intercom. "Celsius, bro."

"Come on dude, Celsius sucks."

Ark barely paid attention to this interchange as his harness suddenly shot up, and he rose from his seat, stretching his muscles and bouncing from one foot to the other in anticipation. He glanced over at Georgia, who grinned back at him. "Exciting, ain't it?" the other recruit asked, his eyes gleaming.

Ark smiled and nodded. "Guess so, looking forward to seeing what this is all about."

The wall at the back of the pelican lowered to provide a platform out into the landing bay of the ship. The eight recruits filed out, each displaying some form of awe, excitement and enthusiasm, all except the one who had introduced himself as Maine, who merely remained impassive as he gazed over the hanger filled with pelicans and white-clad pilots and Freelancer personnel.

A man in dark clothes walked up to them, the light of the hanger bay shining off his dark skin. "Hello, agents," he murmured, greeting them, "I am the Counselor, here to make sure that your time in this project goes as smoothly as possible. Welcome to the _Mother of Invention. _This will be your new home for the remainder of your time within the project. If you'd all follow me, the Director would like to speak with you all personally."

They filed in behind him, two-by-two, Ark moving next to Georgia, California left with the unappetizing opportunity to walk alongside Agent Maine. They progressed in silence as they travelled deeper into the ship, occasionally gasping in awe as they passed things like the ship's core, or the shield generator.

Eventually the Counselor led them into a small classroom, complete with desks that looked like they had seen the inside of an actual school at some point, and told them to take a seat. As Ark sat down at his own desk, he couldn't help but notice that someone had scrawled "York wuz here" in thick black marker, next to a caricature of a stick figure with a huge twirly moustache, promptly followed by a "Real mature, old chap - W".

Another man walked in, wearing a thick pair of glasses, clad in the same black jumpsuit that the Counselor was wearing. "Good evening, agents," he announced, his southern drawl enunciated with every word, and Ark could sense the others shifting into a more alert and upright position.

The man in glasses continued, "My name is Doctor Leonard Church, and I am the Director of this project. While you are here, my word is law, and any disobedience will be met with the most severe of punishments. I am sure that many of you are wondering exactly what you will be expected to do here. I could spend several hours telling you, or I could just show you."

He directed their attention to the clear plexiglass at the far side of the classroom, and motioned for them to make their way over. Ark stood up and slowly walked over, wondering exactly what it was that they would see. The window overlooked a large room, filled with vertical pillars, and he was momentarily confused until he saw three figures striding into the room, one from one end and the other two entering together. The lone figure, in…bluish-seafoam-greenish-turquoise armour quickly disappeared from view, and the other two, one in off-white armour, the other, taller one, in dark blue with white accents, appeared to communicate for a moment before the one in white disappeared, but the blue one slowly striving forward into the centre.

"Agent Carolina is our Number One, and will be taking on agents Wyoming and Pennsylvania, our Number Three and Two, respectively. These are our best agents. What I want from you is to be better."

The figure in blue (Ark wasn't sure if it was Wyoming or Pennsylvania), suddenly ducked back as two purple projectiles whizzed past his head. From the other end of the arena, a sniper rifle rang out, and Agent Carolina's form suddenly appeared, dodging the sniper's bullets, and crashing into the blue figure with incredible speed, knocking the assault rifle from his hands.

"All three agents have been outfitted with paint rounds, which will cause their armour to lock up in the case of a direct hit. In this case Agent Wyoming is the sniper in the white and Agent Pennsylvania in the blue."

Pennsylvania threw the smaller freelancer off him, physically flinging him off of him, but something he managed to roll rid-air and land gracefully on the top of one of the pillars. Pennsylvania then charged forward, clearly more than willing to take on Carolina with his bare hands, and Wyoming took advantage of this momentary distraction to take a shot at Carolina, who threw himself into the air, vaulting over the oncoming projectile.

The recruits oohed and gasped at every shot, every movement, every attack, but it quickly became clear that Carolina held the advantage over the other two, despite their numerical advantage. Pennsylvania was simply not fast enough to hit him, and he and Wyoming couldn't react fast enough to each of his brief hit-and-run assaults, before he had disappeared once more.

Ark saw the end coming before it happened, Pennsylvania (having reclaimed his assault rifle), stepped just a little too far from Wyoming, and Carolina appeared once more, his magnums firing again and again, enveloping the white freelancer in pink paint. He landed nimbly, raising his pistols to put Pennsylvania down, but Pennsylvania charged at him, tackling him into a nearby pillar. Despite this setback, Carolina quickly recovered, dropping his magnums to parry one of Pennsylvania's blows, knocking him back with a swift snap-kick before diving for the nearest magnum, spinning around just as Pennsylvania began to charge at him once more, this time getting a shot off before Penn reached him, his torso exploding into a mist of pink paint, sending him crashing to the ground.

The recruits whooped and cheered, their adrenaline pumping after such an epic conclusion, and even Maine had a wild shine in his eyes. They turned to the Director, who allowed himself a small smile, and stared at them calmly. "The work you will be asked to do will not always be pleasant, and you will face many hardships. Always remember that we made this clear to you now, in the beginning. If you wish to walk away, this is your last chance. After this, there can be no turning back."

He paused for effect, and no one moved, their eyes collectively locked onto his. "Very well, then. Your next stop is the armoury, and then you'll be given a brief break to get some food and reflect on all that you have seen so far. Agent Carolina will take you to your next stop," he said, nodding to something behind them.

As one they slowly turned around to see the same figure that had just partook in the incredible mock-battle only moments ago, and Ark was slightly surprised to see that she was a woman, then mentally rebuked himself for this sexist attitude. Her helmet in her hand, there was a slight sheen of perspiration on her brow, and she casually flicked a strand of her flaming red hair back behind her ear, smiling at the collected recruits.

"Guess you're our new recruits," she said, smiling slightly as she stated the obvious, her eyes wandering over each of them in turn. It was only when her neon-green eyes met his that Ark realised that he knew who she was.

'_It's a small world,' _he thought to himself, shaking his head in wonder.

Carolina turned and gestured for them to follow her, proudly striding down the halls, clearing the way amidst the sea of medics and personnel outside for the recruits. They met with some catcalls along the way, directed towards Carolina by a soldier dressed in tan armour, standing next to a smaller agent in blue and another in dark green and red armour. Carolina ignored him, flipping him off, and continued on her way, taking us right into the heart of the ship.

Eventually they reached a huge metal door, with ACCESS RESTRCITED emblazoned on it. Carolina quickly punched in a five-digit code into the panel next to it, and the doors slowly pulled back to reveal eight gleaming sets of armour, reflecting the shining eyes of the new recruits.

"Beside each suit is a data-pad with the state name of the agent it's assigned to and instructions on its functions," Carolina called out, striding into the room with an air of confidence. "Go and suit up, unless you want me to hold your hands while you do so. No? Then get to it."

Ark walked down the line of suits until he found his own, staring into the visor of the strangely shaped helmet, noting the coral with sage trim of the suit with an element of satisfaction. He quickly changed into his suit, pulling on the various pieces of armour with a great deal of enthusiasm and expectation. His helmet, which according to his HUD was a Scout variation of the Freelancer armour, whatever that meant, did impact his field of vision slightly, but he quickly realised that with some slight adjustments he could minimise the interference that it'd have on him in the field. Clearly the purpose of the smaller vision was to protect the agent's head, as Ark knew from experience that visors were rarely able to withstand any sort of impact.

He looked at the others, and was momentarily nonplussed when he saw Maine fit to what all extents looked like a golden gold-fish bowl over his head. The taller recruit turned around and Ark nodded to him, slightly unnerved by the huge agent's presence. The others had pretty much finished at this point. Georgia latched on a rounded green helmet and strode over to Ark.

"These things are pretty neat, I gotta admit," he said, looking Ark up and down. "Your helmets pretty cool though."

"Cheers," Ark murmured, tapping his visor lightly with his hand, "Yours is pretty damn cool too. Wondered who made these things?"

Georgia shrugged, and it was remarkable how expressive the suits allowed the agents within to remain. "I dunno, I just wish I had gotten a helmet of my own. Between you and Maine, you guys have racked up the cool helmets. Me and Sota over there got paired up with the same design."

"Does that really bother you?"

"Originality is key man, I live by that. I like to stand out."

"Well, those pink accents will get you noticed."

Georgia sighed. "Yeah…I'm not really sure about them."

Ark just raised his hands and shook his head. "Look man, in my opinion, don't ask, don't tell"

He could sense Georgia frown at him, but both of them turned as North and South made their way over to them, and Ark smiled beneath his helmet as he took in the two purplish agents. "Really, guys? They gave you both variations of purple and green armour? Seems like the Director's trying to keep the trend running."

North shrugged and chuckled, but Ark could sense South scowling beneath her helmet. Apparently not everyone was happy with being shoehorned into being a pair within this project. Ark waved his hand aimlessly in the air. "Just kidding, guys."

He turned to face the others, Maine in his white with orange trim armour, Mich clad in lavender and cobalt, the same helmet that North and South wore on her head. Sota was, indeed, wearing the same helmet as Georgia, but looked more at ease within his white and grey armour. Cal was just fitting his helmet on, another one of the North/South variants, his red accents showing up starkly against his white armour, when Carolina strode up to them.

"Ok, time to move on. Make sure you keep up, don't separate from the group, and everything will be ok. Next stop, the cafeteria."

Amidst the cheers coming from Georgia and Cal, both clearly anxious to get something to eat, Ark felt himself grin, the sense of worry and unease that had seized him on the flight over slowly dissipating. He could do this, he knew. He could make something of himself here.

Soon his name would be displayed up on that board, and he knew he had it within him to make the top half, at the very least, regardless of the abilities of the other agents. He was Agent Arkansas now, a member of Project Freelancer.

When he was finally deployed in battle, the Insurrection wasn't going to know what had hit them.

He owed the dead that much, at least.


	40. Chapter 39: Olive Branch

**(A/N) Hey, guys, NicKenny here, bringing you another update from The Freelancer Collaboration. As I mentioned last chapter, we're currently looking for people for a Grifball fic and an X-ray and Vav fic, so if you're interested check out our forum! Next chapter will be our fortieth (well, if you don't include the prologue), and will take us over one hundred thousand words, so will obviously be a monumental achievement for us. Will probably take us over 9,000 views as well!**

**Can't tell you from whose POV it's going to be, but I'll give you a little clue, nothing that'll give it away though. Expect someone new. Someone fresh. And be excited.**

**Anyway, once again I will leave you all with the work of the incredible Jerem6401, who was recently a featured user on the RT website. Good for him. :)**

**As always, enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-Nine – Olive Branch**

**Agent Pennsylvania**

**Written by Jerem6401**

* * *

"_He who cannot rest, cannot work; he who cannot let go, cannot hold on; he who cannot find footing, cannot go forward." _- Harry Emerson Fosdick

* * *

I sat quietly at the table in the cafeteria. Like that solitary student, shirking away from all the others at every high school. I'm sure it looked like I was sulking. Mourning my loss to Carolina… again. But I wasn't. I was reflecting. Remembering every single thing that happened in that match. How could she have beaten me again!? And now that bitch was escorting some new soldiers around the MOI like she owned the damn thing. I looked at my helmet, sitting on the table in front of me. It was staring back at me… disappointed in my performance. A small spec of dried paint still scarred its surface. It was like the damn thing was staring at me… mocking me! I don't know what caused it, but I quickly stood up and threw my fist forward into my helmet. It careened off the table and slammed into the wall on the other side of the room and erupted into an explosion of yellow shards. I took some deep breaths and glared in fury at it.

"You know," a voice started, "those visors aren't exactly cheap." I looked to the side to see York leaning in the doorway. He had his arms folded and his head tilted. "Still mad about the match, dude?" He stepped into the cafeteria and made his way to the table. "Calm down, man. It's just a training exercise." He sat across from where I stood and rested his hands on the table. He lifted his arm and motioned towards the bench. I sighed and sat down as well.

"Yeah. I get that, York," I replied. "But what seems like just a training session to you, means _everything_to me!"

"Why?" he asked. He sat back and waved his hand at me. "Look at you! You're some kind of freak-of-nature. You could crush this table into a ball right now if you wanted." Believe me… I wanted to. "What exactly are you trying to prove, big guy?" I closed my eyes and sighed.

"Look," I started, "let's just say I need this, alright? I need to show the Director…"

"What?" another voice called out. I looked to the side and saw Alaska standing in the doorway now. He strode into the room, his chin up high. "Trying not to disappoint your superior? Wasn't getting discharged from the UNSC already doing that for you? Or are you just looking for more?" I shot up from the table and grabbed the end of it. In rage I ripped upwards, rocketing the table, the attached benches, and York into the back wall of the cafeteria. I stepped forward and stood only a foot from Alaska.

"The UNSC was all I had!" I yelled at him. "And they tore it away from me! I didn't have friends! I didn't have a family! The army was the only thing that ever mattered to me! If a couple of dead soldiers is what can lead a person to be discharged… then you're really tempting me to get kicked out of here right now!"

"Enough!" Alaska and I both looked to see Virginia in the doorway. Behind her was Massa, Florida, and Wyoming. "Stop it, both of you!" she yelled. She walked up to us and stood right next to us. "Project Freelancer isn't going to last if you guys keep fighting like this. Imagine what these new guys will think when they walk in and see us at each other's throats." I slowly looked back at Alaska, who was already staring straight back at me.

"C'mon fellas," Florida began, "let's not bicker around anymore. The teams all back together. We should be celebrating! Right, Penn? Al?"

"Yeah," York started as he approached us, rubbing his head. "That's why I came in here, dude." He continued walking to the door to the cafeteria and reached behind the frame. When he returned he was holding a cooler in his arms. He dropped it on the ground in front of me and reached inside. "I owe you this." He handed a beer to me and nodded. I slowly reached out and took it from him. "So thanks, dude… for getting us out of there in one piece."

"I too, old chap," Wyoming chimed in. "Without your leadership on that rescue mission… we might not have made it back alive. I personally am beginning to warm up to you, friend."

"I suppose I should give you a thank you as well," Massa said quietly. She folded her arms and looked the other way. Not that I cared. Florida reached out and gave a friendly punch to Alaska.

"C'mon, Al," he urged. "You know you want to." Alaska unfolded his arms and stared at Florida. How those two got along… I'll never know. Alaska looked at me and then lifted his hand, pointing a finger at my chest.

"I don't like you, Penn," he muttered. "I really don't like you." There was a silence in the room. If Alaska was willing to start a fight here… I was more than ready to oblige. Then Alaska opened his hand and left it hanging in the air in front of me. I stared at it for a moment, and Alaska seemed to have no intention of moving it away. I slowly reached out and shook it. "But despite everything I've seen from you… all the horrible things I know you've done… I can't help but respect you." I nodded and took my hand away, probably quicker than I meant to. Alaska shook his head and looked at York. He motioned to the cooler, and York leaned down to get a beer. "Just a little, though," he murmured quietly. I smirked and popped the cap off my beer.

"Back at you," I said behind a snicker.

"I know Carolina feels the same way," York added. I cringed at her name and coughed on the beer a bit. "She's probably too busy with the rookies to tell you, though. I'm sure she'll get around to it."

"What about them?" Massa asked. "I saw them boarding the MOI a little while ago. Quite a group of characters."

"Yeah," I agreed, "I saw them to."

"So then you saw _him_?" York asked. "Right?"

"What do you mean _him?_" Virginia questioned. "There's eight of them, right?"

"Yeah," Florida agreed, "but York's talking about the big guy. Basically the rookie's version of Penn. Hell that guy might even be bigger than old Pennsylvania, here. Isn't that nifty?" I knew who they were talking about. I saw him step onto the MOI. I looked him straight in the eyes as he did. He was massive, and I had never seen a stare as emotionless as the one he gave me. I listened to the roll call as they went through. North Dakota, South Dakota, Georgia, Minnesota, Michigan, Arkansas, California... then… then they stood in front of that behemoth and called for him.

"Agent Maine," I said sternly.

"Yup," York said while snapping his fingers. "That's the guy. Creepy, man. He's huuuuge, too!"

"Looks like you're in for some more competition, Penn," Alaska said in a snarky tone.

"Shut up, number seven!" I snapped back at him. He lowered his beer at the remark and growled a little. "I'll figure him out in no time. He's still just the new guy."

"Yeah?" Massa asked. "Gunna figure him out the same way you're trying to figure out Carolina?" I started to tighten my grip as her name was mentioned again. York leaned down and grabbed the cooler, pulling it back to his chest.

"Let's head back to the barracks guys," he stated. "We can keep the bevs coming once we're there." Everyone turned and headed towards the door to the cafeteria. Alaska remained in his spot right next to me as he took another sip of his beer.

"So what are you really thinking?" he asked. It's weird. I hated this guy… I mean _really_hated this guy. But he always seemed to understand me… and vice versa. Anyone walking in would've seen me and Alaska, holding beers, conversing with each other… like we were best friends.

"These new guys all seem pretty talented," I admitted. "Some of them even have background with each other. North and South are twins, so they'll function perfectly as a team."

"What's your point?"

"Look at that scoreboard, Al." I can't believe I called him that. "There's eight slots up there… and I'm damn sure the Director isn't planning to add more. It's only a matter of time before Freelancers start getting kicked off." Alaska sighed and finished his beer.

"You're probably right, Penn. But think about it. We're the experienced ones. It's not like we've really got anything to worry about." He turned away and walked to the exit. He looked back over his shoulder and lifted his bottle to me. "Except each other, of course." Then he turned and walked away. I was left where I began. Alone in the large room. My helmet on the ground against the wall… its visor shattered into bits. I gripped my bottle even tighter, until it erupted in my hands, sending shards of glass everywhere. I cringed for a moment and closed my eyes.

"I'll show them," I muttered quietly to myself. "I'll show all these new recruits. I'll show Alaska. I'll show the Director." I opened my hand, letting the shards fall and break into smaller pieces when they hit the ground. I opened my eyes again. I don't know if it really happened… but I think a small smile was draped across my face.

"I'll show you, Carolina… so you'd better be watching."


	41. Chapter 40: The Melting Pot

**(A/N) Hey guys, NicKenny here, bringing you a fabulous new update from the first of our new writers, BrambleStar14, and introducing us to the perspective of Agent California! We've got surprises in store for you over the upcoming weeks, so stay tuned and keep up-to-date with this fic! **

**Also, we're still looking for writers for both our Grifball fic and our proposed X-Ray and Vav fic, so if anyone's interested, either message me or head on over to our forum! Deadline for Grifball applicants is Monday 27****th**** of May.**

**Also, hope you've all seen the RvB Season 11 teaser trailer! If not, head on to YouTube and check it out immediately!**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter Forty – The Melting Pot**

**Agent California**

**Written by BrambleStar14**

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"_We become not a melting pot but a beautiful mosaic. Different people, different beliefs, different yearnings, different hopes, different dreams."_ – Jimmy Carter

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California looked around as he and the others in their small group were led down yet another narrow hallway, lined with grey steel walls, topped by a grey steel roof. They were walking along a polished grey steel floor, their reflections easily visible, especially with the new armour that diverged wildly between agents for some random reason that Cal could not quite put his metaphorical finger on.

The chick at the front of the group, Carolina (Again, Cal had to wonder; was that North Carolina or South Carolina?) continued to lead them on, swaggering forwards as if to tell them all how much better she was. Cal had no doubts in that regard, not after the fight they had just seen. Eventually, she turned around as they reached a large anonymous grey door, no different from anything else on this ship. She smiled at them, but Cal doubted any of them were really put at ease. After what she had done to those other two, that smile belonged a predator sizing up her prey, seeing which would be easiest to go for first.

"Alright," she said, gesturing towards the door, creepy smile still in place. "Beyond this door is the ship's canteen. You will sit at your designated table and wait until further instructions." She certainly had a way with words, Cal thought, as he allowed her voice to blur inside his head. Again, he glanced down at the armour that now adorned his body and marvelled at its superiority compared to that used by standard military. He heard Carolina finally stop talking and looked up to see the door ahead _hiss_ open.

The group stepped forwards into the canteen, led by Carolina, who was smiling rather woodenly around. Cal quickly looked around, getting his bearings. It was a large room, very tall and lined with pillars near the steel walls, except for a large screen on one wall that showed what appeared to be some sort of leader board. Cal's eyes travelled down the list, unsurprised as they rested on the number one spot: Carolina. Pennsylvania was second, followed by Wyoming, York, Florida, Virginia, Alaska and Massachusetts. Carolina followed his eyes to the board and smirked.

At the end of the room was the food collection area, where a queue had formed for whatever was on offer that day. It reminded Cal of a school canteen, come to think of it. A large amount of tables were positioned very neatly and very tidily around the room, hundreds of them, filled with people both in armour and out of it. One table near the centre had a group of armoured soldiers sat at it, laughing, joking, talking and sometimes glaring at each other.

As the new group entered, everyone seemed to fall silent. The new freelancers seemed to huddle together more as everyone's eyes turned to them, sizing them up. Some of the new agents shifted uncomfortably and Cal could see that even the old Freelancers were watching the new group. Annoyance bubbled up inside of him. How dare these soldiers try to embarrass them, when they had no doubt gone through a similar experience!

"Well," his voice rang out and the crowd seemed to turn to him, causing nervous twitches inside of his brain. "I must have missed this bit on the schedule. One o' clock, stare at new arrivals!" He stared at them pointedly and slowly, the noise levels started to increase as people turned back to their meals. Cal rolled his eyes as he turned back to Carolina, noting uncomfortably that the original Freelancers were still watching them curiously, murmuring to each other out of the corner of their mouths.

Carolina led them across to a table not too far away from where the other freelancers were sitting. She glanced over them all one last time, before leaving without a word and walking over to the other table, where the freelancers all started talking to her, apparently very keen to know what their new teammates were like. California snorted, before turning back to his own group, none of whom seemed to want to initiate a conversation first.

Eventually, the petite blonde girl, Michigan, spoke to the group.

"So, this is Freelancer," she said reservedly. The group seemed to take that as their cue to start talking to each other.

"Seems that way," grinned Georgia as he glanced around at the others. Cal raised his eyebrows; he was certainly excited about the project. Georgia turned to the blonde girl next to him and asked, "What about you? Excited?"

She looked at him, before shrugging. "Whatever really," she said, apparently bored with the conversation. "I guess. What about you?"

Georgia nodded rapidly. Cal could swear that he was either high on something or had just drunk too much caffeine.

"Well, you seemed pretty excited about it when we first heard about it," teased the similar looking guy clad in purple armour sitting next to her. "She kept jumping up and down." He grinned as his sister punched him lightly in the arm. "

"Seems that the others are interested in us," stated Arkansas quietly as he glanced across the room. Cal and the others followed his gaze until he noticed Carolina and her group staring at them curiously. Determinedly, Cal turned back to Arkansas.

"What you here for then?" he asked and Arkansas grinned. "I need to be a better soldier. The project can help with that."

South however, seemed to want to interrupt people, breaking up the conversation before it could start.

"Oh yeah? How far would you go?" The atmosphere seemed to drop by several degrees. North was frowning at his sister while Georgia was sitting back. Michigan seemed to just want to stay out of it. Maine had looked up curiously. Minnesota was watching with slight concern on his face, as he was sat directly to Arkansas' left and would likely get caught in any crossfire. Cal decided there and then that he didn't really like South Dakota. Arkansas simply frowned and turned to Minnesota, apparently keeping out of it.

'_But'_, though Cal as he turned to get up and saw one of the older freelancer standing in the queue, watching them, '_you can't always avoid things'_. He walked over and stood in the queue, watching as some of the others in his group got up to do the same.

"So," said an easy-going voice next to him. "How's things with the rookies?" Cal turned to see a grinning man in tan armour leaning next to him. Cal raised his eyebrows and the man laughed, before extending his hand. "Relax, I'm messing with you. Agent New York, or York to most people."

Cal reached out and grabbed his hand. "California. So, how's things with the information gathering." York laughed again and Cal smirked. "I see that new agents cause quite a stir around here."

York nodded. "That they do. Some people," he muttered what sounded like "Carolina" under his breath. "Get really jumpy. Start to worry about being replaced."

"Until they saw the group of incompetent idiots that stepped through the door?" Cal guessed and York chuckled.

"Oh dear," he said suddenly and Cal followed his eyes to see a frowning Carolina. "Listen, I've got to go before Carolina decides to-" Any other words he might have said were cut off as he ran away, back to his table, where Carolina either interrogated or berated him.

"Sheesh," Cal said to Georgia, who was stood next to him. "There is one redhead I would not want to piss off!" Georgia nodded enthusiastically.

Back at their table, food now in front of them, the conversation turned to more serious matters.

"I'm telling you!" North gestured with his fork, "If this new team, Heretic, score by more than 6 in the next match, Slipspace are out and Phoenix will be in first to take the trophy!" South was shaking her head, apparently not as big of a fan as her brother.

"Bullshit! If Vortex wins their next match, they go through to the final with Phoenix!" Cal stated back, brandishing his knife at the opposing fan. "You just don't want Vortex to win because they stole Cannonball's old striker!"

North gasped dramatically before turning to South. "South, tell California that I am no longer interested in the conversation."

She sighed, before turning to Cal. "My brother has decided that he has lost any argument and is now ignoring you."

Cal nodded his thanks and turned to a confused Georgia. "What is this Grifball? Some sport?" Georgia asked, rubbing his forehead confusedly, while Michigan was having an awkward conversation with Minnesota and Arkansas about what the project would entail. There was a clatter as both Cal and North dropped their cutlery and, rivalry forgotten, stared at Georgia, who seemed a little nervous.

"What?" he asked. They stared, incredulous.

"How the bloody hell can you not have seen Grifball?" inquired Cal as North nodded in shock.

"Um..." Georgia said as he looked to South pleadingly. She just grinned.

Eventually, Arkansas decided to strike up a conversation with Maine. A very one sided conversation, granted, but at least he tried.

"So, uh... Looking forwards to the project?" Maine just grunted. Arkansas tried a new tactic. "Say, did they announce roommates yet?" Maine merely grunted again and Arkansas seemed to finally just give up. "You're not a talkative kinda guy, are you?" he muttered, before turning to the conversation at large, which was about whether or not they would be joining the others.

"I'm telling you," Georgia was saying to Minnesota. "They'll be wanting to put us together. It'll be some kind of team effort." Arkansas nodded, while Maine grunted, shrugging his massive shoulders, probably to show off his lack of caring at all.

"So much for a team!" snapped South back angrily. Cal internally sighed. She was really going in with this "I'm an arrogant bitch" thing she had going for her. "We don't know anything about each other! This isn't a team! We don't even know our own names anymore. I could ask anyone here anything about themselves and they'd refuse to answer! You, where are you from?" It took Cal a second to realize that the question had been directed at him.

He closed his eyes as the repressed memories that he'd rather forget flooded into his head, flashing before his eyes. His hands clenched uncontrollably on his cutlery as he squeezed his eyes shut, as if to block out the images that South had called forth. After a second, he opened his eyes and stared at South unblinkingly, feeling nothing but rage at her carelessness.

"Soooooo..." North interjected, watching the fuming pair with concern. "Anyone up for guessing which Freelancer over there is which?"

After a while, the new group were rapidly getting bored. The conversation had run dry. They had talked about many things. North had quickly resumed Grifball arguments, but that was due to wanting to avoid Cal or South going for each other's throats with the knives. Georgia had joined in, curious to hear more. Arkansas had engaged Minnesota and Michigan in a conversation about what weapon was their favourite, while Maine had merely grunted when he was spoken to. All Maine had to do was to look like he was paying attention and grunt in convenient places. That was the most conversation anyone had gotten out of him.

The room had slowly emptied as people filed out to their various meaningless jobs throughout the ship. Even the other Freelancers had vanished after a while, still shooting them covert glances every once in a while, even as the door shut behind Carolina as she looked over the group one last time. Everyone had had to try and find ways to entertain themselves, some with more luck than others. California was one such person.

"Anyone wanna hear some jokes?" Cal asked later, utterly bored. He was sure that the Director was keeping them waiting intentionally, watching how the group reacted together, who got on with who and who didn't. He was assessing them.

"Dear God, no!" Minnesota said quietly into his hands, having put his head into them after giving up on the rather tedious task of listening to those around him. The others sat around the rectangular table made various noises of either agreement or disagreement, just to see how far Michigan could be pushed. She had made perhaps the most violent reaction towards Cal during this period, threatening him with her fork before just putting her head in her hands.

"What?!" Cal asked in amusement, lip curled upwards into a smirk as his eyes glittered maliciously. "Someone around here has to be the _punny_one! Geddit?" He laughed openly as South's eyes glared from between her hands, North's smile became more pronounced, Georgia grinned, Minesotta just groaned, Maine showed no visible reaction, Arkansas sighed and Michigan looked up, face full of fury.

"Just shut up!" she yelled at him. "Shut. The. Hell. Up!" Cal blinked in surprise at the sudden reaction, before tilting his head in submission and mock saluting her. She snarled, apparently having had enough with him. But before she could do a thing, a new voice rang out.

"Agents! Stand down!" The voice was a drawling, southern monotone, inflected with a tiny bit of anger. Instantly, the eight person group snapped into well oiled, crisp salutes. The Director nodded and they dropped the salutes. He smiled very slightly as he observed them, but it was not a nice smile. It was a victorious smile, the kind one wore after winning a particular battle. He had asserted who was in charge here.

"Allow me to take you to the next stage in your introductions in this project." Without further ado, him and the other man, the Counselor, turned and exited the room without warning. Momentarily perplexed, the group looked at each other a second, before hurriedly following him through the automatic doors.

"Thank Christ!" Cal thought he heard South mutter. Grinning, he looked over at them all.

Maine was quiet, strong and clearly didn't want to talk. He was a typical thug. He was the heavy hitter, the one who took opponents down quickly, efficiently and messily. Cal wasn't going to hang around him, but he wasn't likely to want to get in his way either.

Michigan clearly was independent. She was fierce and clearly hated sarcasm. And bad jokes. She and Cal were unlikely to get along. At all. Another one to avoid. He shook his head. This list was getting very one sided. Whose fault was it that the girl needed to lighten up?

North Dakota was better, in his opinion. He liked Grifball, something that would automatically attract Cal to a specific person. He also seemed level headed and unlikely to pry too far into other people's backgrounds, something that Cal could also do without. Overall, North Dakota was one of his favourites of the new group.

His sister, South Dakota on the other hand, clearly had a dislike for him. He couldn't really say that he felt differently. She was arrogant, rude and clearly had no interest in making friends. He couldn't blame her, as no one would really want to be friends with her anyway! He would work with her, nothing more. If she was going to make no secret of her feelings, than he felt entitled to do the same in return. One good turn deserves another, as the old saying went.

Arkansas was alright. He was a nice enough guy, except for his apparent lack of going further than he needed to. That would have to change. War changed people, for better or worse. They had to adapt. They had to grow colder and more willing to do what they had to, or they died. Cal knew all about that! Arkansas was an unknown. He would either succeed or he wouldn't. The question was "When would he have to choose?"

Georgia was also quite a cool guy. He was energetic and excitable certainly, but he didn't know what Grifball was! How could a guy not know that?! However, he was keen to learn. Cal wouldn't say he was quite there yet, but with a bit of training, he might be properly house trained. He also wasn't that put off by the jokes and if a guy could stand Cal, then Cal could stand the guy. That was one of his, he paused a second. Oh yeah, three hundred and sixty four mottos.

And Minnesota. The quiet one. Didn't really talk much. He couldn't get a clear reading on him. He was unknown. He didn't make his opinion known that much and stayed quiet. He didn't see, to want to trust anyone. Cal would have to be careful. Unknown's tended to make themselves known in harsh ways.

Even the older Freelancers seemed alright, in an "I can kill you in eighteen different ways without blinking" kind of way. Carolina was pure confidence, brimming with power. She was in charge and she knew it. She knew that she was the best. And that brought out dangerous sides, not just in that person, but in the others trying to beat them. She was like a half woman-half shark. More or less.

California glanced over them all one last time as the Director shepherded them to wherever the hell they were going next. They might not be perfect. They might not all get along. But right now, they were _his_team. Nothing would happen while they all worked as one single, solid unit. They stuck together, no matter what. From here on out, these people had to work to keep each other alive. He grinned at the thought.

He wasn't sure if he was more pleased they were watching his back, or worried.


	42. Chapter 41: Proven

**(A/N) Hey guys, another Wednesday, another update! Season 2 of Immersion just kicked off today, so I'd advise you to go and check that out! This chapter is brought to you by one of our incredible new writers, Lili-Hunter, and she'll be bringing you the adventures of South Dakota over the remainder of this fic, and, in my opinion, I don't think there's a better South writer out there! Read on to see if you agree. **

**Enjoy!**

**Chapter Forty-One – Proven**

**Agent South Dakota**

**Written by Lili-Hunter**

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_"Teamwork; because a single bullet can only go through so many bodies." - _Author Unknown

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Agent South Dakota, one of eight new recruits in Project Freelancer, was, largely, striving to remain unimpressed by the organisation.

Sure, they did have a large airship - the _Mother of Invention_ they called it - plus some pretty technologically advanced armour and weaponry - but it was nothing that she hadn't already seen in the UNSC.

South Dakota already knew her brother to be amazed by the Project's technological advances - the ship even had its _own_ AI, F.I.L.S.S. - but she knew North Dakota had been totally won over as they had watched the lead Freelancer, Agent Carolina, completely and utterly kick the asses of two of her peers. Even South was forced to admit that it had been kind of incredible.

Whatever. South Dakota was filled with a sort of buzzing excitement, eager to prove herself. She knew that she was just as good - hell, if not better - than some of the other Freelancers they had seen perform thus far.

"Agents." The voice of the calm, dark-skinned man they had been told to call the Counselour spoke softly through several of the loudspeakers. South glanced up, as did several of the other recruits by her side, and watched his shadowed figure through the glass as he addressed them. "As the Director informed you, each of you was accepted into this program for one very special reason - you are special. You are skilled. You are good at what you do." He paused. "Thus far, you have seen us; our ship, our personnel, our weapons, our armour and most important of all; our Agents. However" - and here he paused again, perhaps for dramatic effect - "we have not seen you."

Her head snapped quickly to the side, and South Dakota locked gazes with her twin. She knew he was thinking the same as she - this was what they had been waiting for. Finally, they could show them just how good they were.

Finally, South could prove that she deserved to be here.

"The objective is simple. Eliminate the other teams, until only one team remains. Your weapons are already loaded with paint rounds." The Counselor then rattled off a list of names, grouping the eight recruits into teams of two. South drew closer to her brother as they were announced a team, unsurprised at having been paired together.

As the Counselor's voice faded, a new speaker introduced themselves. "The match will begin in thirty seconds," F.I.L.S.S said pleasantly. "Teams, please retreat to separate corners of the training room."

Thirty seconds! Her body reacted much quicker than her mind, backing into the closest corner. The other teams soon also spread out, though South could still see four other Agents - Minnesota and Michigan, Maine and California - as they waited impatiently to begin.

Abruptly, the metal floor shifted, and pillars rose steadily from the ground, further obscuring their view of the other teams.

She heard North sigh in disappointment, and realized his long-barreled sniper rifle would be at a disadvantage in the close-quarter combat the pillars encouraged.

South looked down, flexing her hands over the battle rifle. It was better suited to the coming fight, and the weapon was familiar - her usual preference - so she was confident in her own ability.

F.I.L.S.S was counting down their remaining time in the background, a mindless drone. South exhaled, glancing up at the observation room hanging above them. How many people were watching? The shapes through the tinted glass were barely distinguishable.

"So what's our plan?" North spoke from behind her, his voice steady.

"Win," was her short answer.

Her twin shot her a look of mild exasperation. "Don't be so cocky," he warned. "We don't know how good these guys are."

"Hmph."

"Look, let's just hang back a little first. Watch and learn. Just for a moment."

South resisted the urge to smirk or roll her eyes. Her brother was always cautious. Sometimes, like today, it bordered on being annoying. But, though her every instinct rebelled against his plan - she was really spoiling for a fight, and had been ever since setting foot on the ship - she trusted his judgement. They were twins, after all. "Fine. Just for a moment."

She sensed his relief at her agreement. "Be careful, sis. Let's stick together."

"You too."

She lowered her gaze to the training room floor, and waited.

"Three. Two. One. Begin." F.I.L.S.S instructed.

A heartbeat of pounding silence, and then chaos erupted. Gunfire cracked through the air. South leaned forward, impatient. But she could see none of the other teams from her current position.

Screw it. There was no point waiting. There was nothing to see!

South took off like a rocket, eagerness and adrenaline pounding through her blood. After an initial hesitation, she felt her brother follow.

She passed two pillars before spotting their first opponent. Michigan was firing as she backed up, with Minnesota nowhere to be seen.

South leapt, her barrel cracking loudly. But Michigan must have felt the movement, for she turned, and the pink spray missed her by a hair's breadth. It splattered clumsily into pillars.

Michigan let loose a round of paint. South ducked behind a pillar, only to reappear on the other side and fire. The other Agent stumbled as she dodged, her assault rifle's aim dropping for just a moment.

It was enough. South launched herself out of safety, and leapt feet first towards the lavender Freelancer. Michigan, already off-balance, was sent flying. Behind her was a knot of Freelancers and Michigan crashed into them all, knocking many aside. South raised her battle rifle, triumph searing her veins as she jammed down on the trigger-

BOOM!

Wide-eyed, she stared in disbelief. Slowly, Michigan toppled to the ground, her torso encased in solid pink paint. But it had not been her shot to take out the Freelancer, and South felt the first flickers of true anger as she saw who had stolen her 'kill': Agent Arkansas.

BOOM!

His shotgun roared, and South dodged the bullet - but barely. How dare he take Michigan from her? Arkansas disappeared around a pillar, and she realized he had to reload. Perfect. She could take her revenge now.

"South!" Suddenly, she was yanked backward by a firm hand on her armour. She watched, surprised, as paint blew past her - it would have hit her square in the visor, had not her brother saved her. She shook him off, irrational.

"Damn it, North!" She had to get to Arkansas, before he could reload. She knew that in this environment, his was the better weapon."What?!"

"That's three Agents down," he said quickly. South didn't ask how he knew, but accepted it as truth. "Sota, Georgia, and Mich." He automatically shortened their names, rattling them off as quickly as he could.

"And we haven't taken _anyone_ out yet? Damn it, North!" she repeated. Why was he wasting her time?!

"Wait, that's not-" But she ignored him.

South ducked through the pillars, avoiding stray sprays of gunfire. Despite the advantage of a shotgun in this close combat, she knew they were a pain in the ass to reload. Normally, the other teammate would cover you as you reloaded. But, as North had just told her, Georgia had been taken out. That left only one team besides themselves - Maine and California. And if Arkansas was hiding, that meant that they were searching for-

Two small dots suddenly appeared on her radar. Instantly, South threw herself to the side. Her leg clipped against a pillar painfully, but her mouth was suddenly, fearfully dry as several shots scattered themselves just over her head. She gathered herself gracelessly, and rose to her feet behind a pillar. Suddenly, there was an answering boom. She spotted her twin's sniper rifle as it waved threateningly, firing at the Freelancers she couldn't see.

"North!" she yelled. South saw his visor as her brother peeked around the pillar, and gestured, hoping he would understand her plan.  
It was a gamble, sure. But Maine and California had them trapped and separated. _Everything_ was a gamble from now on.

"Sync?" he answered.

"Sync!"

North let off two shots in hurried succession, and she heard a scuffle as, presumably, the other team dodged the shots. South blasted from her cover, sprinting towards her twin. A thin hallway separated them, but he was waiting, rifle on the ground, fingers laced and his palms open.

Her battle rifle fell from her fingers as she leapt, landing square in his hands. She felt her twin gather his strength and throw her up, vaulting South through the air. It had been years since they'd done this - she could remember constantly begging him to help her practice her gym routine, and her grateful smile as he accepted every time though she'd quit the practice months later - but, always in sync, they managed it flawlessly.

South landed steadily on top of the first block, hands and legs spread for balance. She didn't hesitate, gathering herself to leap forward from block to block.

Maine and California never saw her coming, though they doubtless heard the slaps of her boots as she pounded towards them. That was all to the better - her desperate plan depended on it.

A glint of reflected white guided her towards Agent California, and South jumped off the block, feet spread. Her boots slammed heavily into his shoulders, and the unexpected weight drove the male Freelancer to his knees. South shoved herself forward, slamming the back of California's helmet against the pillar he had hidden behind.

California's grip had loosened in shock, and as momentum threw her body forward, South clawed one of his SMG's. She rolled to her feet, and shot blindly towards the hulking mass of white and gold that rumbled towards her, battle rifle prepared to fire.

It was unlucky, really. Despite her dizziness, South's shot had been spot on. Paint exploded towards Agent Maine, but the other Freelancer shot also. The two rounds met head on, bursting into bright pink foam that splattered the pillars surrounding them. South ducked and covered her head, knowing some would fall onto her forearms. But it was not enough to lock either of their armour.

Somehow, North reappeared by her shoulder. Her twin reached down and pulled her to her feet, before shooting at Maine. The other Freelancer dodged the shot.

"North!" The warning cry burst from her throat, and they both ducked behind a pillar. California's round cracked into the blocks surrounding them. North unexpectedly pressed something into her hand, and she closed her fingers around the battle rifle she had dropped previously. South nodded her thanks, eyebrows drawn together as she focused. California's SMG was quickly flung to the side, away into the mess of pillars.

As one, the twins moved away. South ducked around the pillar in search of California, battle rifle raised and ready to fire. North moved to distract Maine.

There! She saw a flash of his white and red armour, and leapt after the other Freelancer.

Surprisingly he was already firing. South heard a shotgun boom out, and snarled as she realized Arkansas had rejoined the fight. Fine - let him take the brunt of California's fire. South could take them both out even more easily.

South burst from her cover, and fired in sharp bursts. She could almost taste California's panic as he realized he was caught between two Agents. Nonetheless, he put up a good fight, proving a challenge as he used the cover of the pillars to his advantage, weaving in and out to return fire and dodge simultaneously. Despite his skill, nothing could stop South's satisfaction as she let loose a storm of bullets. They ripped through the air, and carved themselves in neat lines across his armour. California dropped stiffly to the floor, motionless.

Once again, she and Arkansas were divided by a fallen Freelancer. South let a smirk pull across her features. But she was not distracted by her victory, and raised the battle rifle.

Abruptly, something green and purple flew through the air and crashed into Arkansas. Both Freelancers stumbled to the floor.

Agent Maine strode into her vision, raising a weapon identical to her own. South was struck by horror. No, damn it, no! Her twin would _not_ be felled by this giant asshole. Only South herself was allowed to throw her brother across rooms.

She adjusted her aim, swinging it slightly to the side. Her breath caught in her chest, and South pulled the trigger.

Her aim was off. Even as she watched the pink bullet fly, South knew she had missed. Indeed, it ripped through the air slightly ahead of Maine's body, exploding-

-right around Agent Maine's hand.

South was caught by the bizarre urge to laugh as she watched his hand drop, falling from the unexpected weight. The pink spray that would have taken out her brother jerked, and splattered across Arkansas. It burst around his left leg, plastering him to the floor.

But North was not out of the woods yet. His elbow smashed into the underside of Ark's jaw, snapping his head back. They both flailed on the floor, Ark trying to reach his shotgun and restrain North simultaneously while her twin struggled to free himself. He succeeded a moment later, and - now that her brother was out of danger - South fired. Pink paint burst around his chest, wrapping Arkansas in their stifling embrace.

A rippling growl drew South Dakota's attention away from the dissatisfaction that burned in her chest. Arkansas had deserved a much more painful - and humiliating - end. Her head jerked to the side, and South, instinctively, drew closer to her brother. A crack in the pillar beside Agent Maine suggested he had punched it - extremely, extremely hard - and flakes of pink paint showered the floor. His hand, more or less freed, closed into a fist.

The Dakotas reacted instantly. North aimed high, shooting for Maine's chest as South tried to sweep his legs out from under him. But the other Freelancer was more skilled than they had estimated, and dodged the sniper round, simply swatting South's leg aside. She stumbled slightly, and Maine's rifle cracked across the back of her head. South spun, almost seeing stars.

She opened her eyes in time to see her brother kicked into a pillar. It shook, and her eyes widened at the display of Maine's frightening strength.

South rose unsteadily to her feet. Wary, she settled into a defensive stance, and watched Maine with a sharp eye. From the corner of her eye, she watched North climb groggily to his feet, and join her.

Maine was not one to be underestimated - not again. South had already felt his brute strength and had no desire to do so again. But as the last sentence crossed her mind, South realized she had the answer. It was deceptively easy - she just couldn't allow herself to be hit. The twins sprang forward, once again entirely in sync. South had no idea if her brother had shared her abrupt epiphany, but he seemed to catch on quickly.

South ducked beneath an outstretched arm and kicked at Maine's chest. The blow connected, driving the Freelancer back. It allowed the Dakotas a little more breathing room.

Maine growled, and North stepped in front of South to deflect the blow. His sniper rifle swung, but the other Freelancer batted its barrel aside. South could only watch as her twin began a series of rapid blows, weakening Maine's defence.

North fell back, just for a moment but enough for South to know it was an invitation. She leapt towards the white Freelancer. Maine stepped back and her leg swung harmlessly by his face, forcing her into a crouch to remain balanced. The mistake could have been fatal, but North distracted him with a fist that caught the lip of his helmet, forcing it backwards.

South returned with another snap kick. She knew they were her strongest offensive hits. Sure enough, Maine stumbled, and North took advantage of his distraction.

He tossed his sniper rifle. Agent Maine instinctively went to catch it, his hands tangling around the thin weapon. North stepped forward, landing two lightning fast blows on his collarbone. The defenseless Freelancer fell back, letting North snatch his weapon back. Maine swung widely, but South avoided his fist and hit at his chest.

The Dakotas advanced, forcing Maine into more desperate and clumsy methods to remain standing. He balled his fist, and began a devastating right hook. North sidestepped the blow. South grunted as she ducked, one hand flying up to catch Maine's wrist.

It was his own momentum that entrapped him so neatly. South leapt back up, twisting his arm savagely. It bent behind his back. Her foot lashed out at the backs of his knees, forcing Maine to the ground. His left arm flailed wildly, but South pulled his right at an even more severe angle. The entire exercise took only a moment.

North was ready. He fired sharply, and she felt it as Maine crumpled from the point blank pain. A moment later and he was frozen, trapped inside the pink paint.

For a moment there was no sound but her heavy, fast breathing. Her heart pounded in her chest, but South could feel the large smile breaking across her face. North let his rifle's barrel fall to his side, looking equally as worn yet satisfied.

"Round over," F.I.L.S.S. declared. South turned to watch as Maine's armour was unlocked. The pink paint, no longer entirely solid, simply dropped off his bulky frame in large flakes. The Freelancer shoved past them with a low growl.

"You were really good out there." South turned as her brother spoke, and offered him a relieved, tight smile.

"Thanks," she said, the adrenaline that was fading from her system leaving her breathless.

South drew her hands to her face and inspected her forearms grimly. A few pink flakes, nothing that would possibly result in point deduction. Her lips twisted bitterly, and she let her hands fall, doing her best to hide the spots.

With a small shudder, the pillars surrounding them sank back into the metal ground. South exhaled, face flushed from the mild exertion, as the other weary recruits joined them.

Suddenly, the doors of the training room yawned wide open. South's gaze went immediately to the pack of Freelancers descending upon them with the Director at their head. Her posture straightened, and as one the recruits snapped off salutes. The Director slowed, and clasped his hands behind his back.

"North and South Dakota," he drawled, "you are the victors in today's match. Well done... That was an impressive display of teamwork."

"Thank you, sir," they said together.

The Director smiled thinly, raking them with his bright gaze. Just as his lips parted to speak again, South felt herself being shoved roughly to the side. She grunted angrily, and turned to shove back at whoever had been so rude. But Maine kept moving, walking until he stood before the Director.

"Sir." His voice was low and husky. "I demand a rematch."

"Are you unsatisfied with your performance?"

Maine rolled his shoulders, and spoke again. Anger shook from every syllable as he spoke. "California," he snarled. "California held me back! I could have done better on my own."

Before either Cali or the Director could respond, there was a derisive sneer. A Freelancer clad in dark blue armour stepped forward, brushing his peers aside carelessly. White trim on his armour reflected the light dully.

"You think _California_ held you back?" the Freelancer asked incredulously. South remembered his name was Pennsylvania.

Maine's jaw jutted out angrily. "I know it."

"You were 'held back' because they were better than you." South may have been flattered, if not for the fact he was obviously saying it to anger Maine further. The other Freelancers were still and quiet, watching the tense exchange. "California's the only reason you weren't flat on your ass within ten seconds."

"Are you saying I can't fight?" Maine snarled, his voice a low roar.

Penn laughed darkly. He shouldered his way through the small crowd, carelessly shoving other Freelancers aside. "No. Anyone with a fist can fight." Penn tilted his head to the side, and crossed his arms. He regarded Maine slowly, scraping the white Freelancer with his hard gaze. "I'm saying you can't fight _well_."

Maine's body was tense, as though fighting against the urge to start throwing punches. For a long moment he was still. South could almost feel the fury rearing its ugly head in his chest, straining and snarling against its leash. Despite herself, she felt goosebumps begin to ride her skin. But Pennsylvania met Maine's gaze steadily, until the white Freelancer spoke again."Is that a challenge?" he sneered.

Penn's hands dropped into a guarded position, his body ready to attack. His fingers twitched, beckoning. "Yeah. You and me. Hand to hand combat, right now."

Maine didn't hesitate. He took a step forward, his fingers curling into fists. "I accept."

"Don't be so stupid." The words came from Carolina, the Freelancer currently ranked number one. She turned to the pair. "You need express permission from the Director to authorize a match."

South's gaze flickered to the man amid the Freelancers. His smile grew even thinner, and his chin dipped briefly. "Permission granted."

F.I.L.S.S. spoke immediately. "Hand-to-hand combat match beginning shortly. Freelancers and personnel, please exit the training room floor immediately."

The group faded from the training room obediently. The Dakotas walked side by side, and South felt a large smile begin to come over her features as she thought over the training match they had just won, and the impressive match about to go down.

Reluctantly, South Dakota had to admit that she was impressed.


	43. Chapter 42: Unstoppable Forces

**(A/N) Hey! It's update time, bringing you another chapter for one of the eight new rookies! You may be familiar with this guy. ;) Our next update, as always, will be on Monday, and will feature another new freelancer, whom you may have heard of, but probably won't have seen before. Stay tuned!**

**Just want to let everyone know that we are now accepting applications for our X-Ray and Vav fic, and our applications thread for our Grifball thread will close on Monday, so if you're interested, get on it! :)**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter Forty-Two – Unstoppable Forces**

**Agent Maine**

**Written by Jerem6401**

* * *

"_He who angers you conquers you." – _Elizabeth Kenny

* * *

"Hey big guy," a voice spoke quietly. Maine turned his head slightly to see York standing right next to him. Maine was standing in a small chamber, where competitors would wait while the training floor was prepared. Soon the chamber would open into the arena, where the fight would commence. Maine was still staring down at York, emotionless, like always.

"Are you sure about this, man?" Maine broke the contact and turned his head back to the doorway in front of him, almost begging for it to open. "Look… I know that you guys, being new and all, feel like you have something to prove."

Maine's hand suddenly reached out and grabbed York's armour with incredible strength. York couldn't have wriggled away, even if he really tried. "If there's a point," Maine spoke, in a voice almost inaudibly low, "make it."

Maine's grip lessened and York sighed. "You two _are_ a lot alike," he muttered.

Maine snapped his head to York again at the remark. York rubbed the back of his head and motioned towards the door. "Listen. I don't doubt for a second that you can handle yourself in a combat session, especially a hand-to-hand. But this guy… I mean… Pennsylvania…"

Maine turned his head to the door as lights above it turned green, signalling that the training floor was ready for the battle to start.

"He's not like the other soldiers, okay? This guy has shown before that he's willing to do anything… even in a training session." Maine remained silent as the door began to slowly slide upwards, revealing the floor.

"Agent York," the Director's voice called over the speakers. "Please clear the floor. Unless you want to join the fight yourself."

York sighed and turned away. "Not even for a second." He turned his head back to Maine and nodded. "Just be careful, rookie… okay? Winner gets a beer."

Maine didn't react at all to York's happy remark. Instead he just stared straight ahead. The door was completely retracted now, and the training floor was fully revealed. It was dotted with massive concrete pillars, usually used to provide cover, but in this situation they would most likely be useless. There were no weapons in this fight, just fists. Maine could see across to his opponent.

Penn had a small smile on his face as he strode into the arena. His helmet was in his hand, pushed against his side. Penn walked to the centre and lifted his hand towards Maine, motioning him to join. Maine stepped from his chamber and into the arena, slowly making his way to the centre. He stopped only a few feet from Penn. His smile seemed to fade… maybe because Maine was the first soldier he ever had to look up to. Penn was 6'8" and weighed around 290 lbs, while Maine was 6'10" and weighed almost 350 lbs. Penn slowly lifted his arms and fastened his helmet into place, erasing his face to a mysterious blank… the way Agent Maine seemed to spend every second.

* * *

"Agent Maine, you understand why you're here," the Director asked quietly. Maine sat in his chair, hands folded in front of him, staring at the floor.

"Yes."

"You are going to be a member of a highly trained group of super soldiers, with humanity itself at stake. Being a functioning member of this team is key to both your, and everyone else's survival."

Maine continued to stare at the floor, but now began to twiddle his thumbs. "Your military history suggests a violent nature within you, Agent. However, you have also proven that you're extremely capable of taking and following orders in the field. I expect that behaviour to continue."

Maine nodded again and gripped his hands together, tightly. "Understood."

"Do not get let your anger get the best of you while you're out there. That is an order." Maine closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

The Director circled behind his desk and sat down, draping his arms across its surface. "I understand that charging into enemy lines is something you won't think twice about, what with your… condition."

Maine opened his eyes once again and looked up at the Director. It may have just been the lighting in that particular room, but it always seemed like Maine's face was hidden in the shadows. Cloaked behind a shroud of mystery.

"You're special, Agent Maine."

"A freak."

"No. You are unique. Congenital analgesia is a very rare condition, yet you claim to have it. Tell me, Agent… is this true?"

Maine looked down once again, before quickly leaning forward and snatching a pen off of the Director's desk, almost faster than he could see. Maine lifted it high into the air, before violently ramming it downwards into his own leg. There were a few streams that leaked away from the wound, marbled with both the colors from the ink, and Maine's blood. Maine's face did not change, and he slowly lifted his head to stare at the Director once again.

"Nothing."

"A man incapable of feeling pain… amazing. Simply amazing. I'm sure you've been called that your entire life."

Maine closed his eyes as he ripped the pen out of his leg. "Not amazing," he growled quietly. "Monster."

* * *

"Session will begin in T minus 3," F.I.L.S.S. began. Maine clenched his hands into fists and could see Penn doing the same. "2."

A massive silence fell over the other Freelancers as they looked down on the training floor from the spectator booth.

"Please don't kill him," York quietly prayed as he closed his eyes. North looked towards him and bumped him in the shoulder.

"Who are you talking about?" he inquired. York shook his head and put his hand on the glass.

"I don't know yet, North. I don't know."

"1." In an instant, both Maine and Penn were lunging forward, their fists tearing through the air in front of them. The two massive strikes collided in a shattering sound of cracking knuckles. A shockwave from the impact exploded outwards, actually cracking some of the cement pillars around them.

Penn stepped back and shook his hand, trying to numb the pain. Maine, however, didn't hesitate and rushed forward. He threw a punch which collided with the side of Penn's helmet, snapping his head to the side. Another shot hit Penn directly in the chest, lifting him off the ground for a moment.

Penn stepped back and leaned against one of the pillars, grabbing his chest and trying to get his breath back. Maine stopped that by grabbed the front of Penn's visor and pulling him in, before smashing his head into the pillar, shattering the concrete. He quickly repeated the action again and again, burying Penn's head further and further into the rock.

"Oh my God!" South yelled. "That's awesome!"

"Penn's going to get hurt!" Florida exclaimed. "The poor lad. Someone better stop this."

"Hold up!" another voice yelled. The Freelancers turned to see Alaska, his arms folded, looking down on the arena. "I've got a feeling we shouldn't end the fight just yet."

Alaska unfolded his arms and rested one hand against the glass, leaning forward as he did. "I know Penn isn't going to quit yet." Suddenly he began to shout, so his voice carried well into the arena.

"Not with his rank on the line!"

The words travelled through the pillars and into Penn's helmet. His rank… his purpose… his pride. Penn gripped his hand into a fist and rotated his entire body behind a punch. His fist tore through the air and slammed into Maine's chest piece, crumpling his armour like foil. Maine careened backwards into a pillar, sending tiny shards of concrete flying everywhere. Penn leapt off the ground and lowered his head. He tackled Maine straight through the pillar behind him, cutting it in two and sending the top half skywards.

Maine rolled backwards after the attack, skilfully pushing back up to his feet. He looked up and saw the top half of the pillar falling back to the ground, and quickly rushed forward, punching it before it made contact. The slab of rock became a projectile and rocketed towards Penn. Penn punched his own hand in preparation, before loading up and ramming his fist into the incoming rock, shattering it to bits that landed harmlessly behind him.

However, as soon as the rocks cleared, Penn saw Maine erupt through the smoke and jump into the air. He threw two kicks that Penn blocked with his gauntlets. By the time Maine landed, Penn was already throwing another punch. Maine dodged it, causing Penn to punch another pillar, taking a massive chunk out of the side.

"Jesus!" California yelled. "Didn't realize Project Freelancer had a god damned juggernaut in the ranks."

"Maine's not exactly a lightweight, either," Michigan added.

"Yes, quite a show," Wyoming agreed. "Wouldn't want to get hit with one of those fists, would you? Our good old chap, Penn, can cause quite a bit of damage, eh, Carolina?" Carolina closed her eyes as a sickening scream filled her mind once again. She suddenly reopened them and stepped forward.

"Maine can handle it," she said confidently, "he can beat Penn."

Penn and Maine continued to exchange blows, each taking and dealing massive shots to the head and chest. Maine reached up and slammed downwards, cracking Penn in the back of the head. Maine reached down and took hold of Penn's armour. He hoisted him over his head like a child, effortlessly. Maine then threw Penn across the arena and into another pillar, cracking it.

Penn shook off the attack and looked up to see Maine charging in again. Penn quickly pushed Maine's fist out of the way and slammed him in the side of the head with a forearm. Maine flew to the side and into yet another pillar. Penn quickly got behind his pillar and loaded up a kick. He slammed his boot into it, severing it from the ground and turning it into a missile. It crashed into Maine, sandwiching him between two of the heavy, concrete structures and making him disappear behind a wall of rubble and smoke.

"God… is every training session here like this?" Georgia asked.

"Not even close," Massa chimed in.

"How can you guys stand here and watch this!?" York yelled. "That's got to be enough! One of them is going to get killed!"

"No, Agent York," the Director replied. He had his arms folded behind his back, and was calmly looking down at the arena. "I want to learn something from this match. Something very important."

"What could you possibly learn from this?" York demanded.

"A lot actually," Virginia added. She turned to look at York and shrugged. "I mean… if you're a medic."

"Agent Pennsylvania and Agent Maine have both been given the same instruction," the Director replied. "I guarantee the winner will be the one who listened. The one who can control themselves."

Penn took some deep breaths as he menacingly walked towards the crash site. He was stretching out his fingers, wanting desperately to have them around Maine's throat.

"Alright, rookie," he said darkly, "time to make sure you stay in your place." Suddenly massive chunks of concrete flew from rubble pile as Maine leapt off the ground. He threw a punch, which Penn caught out of the air. In response, Penn threw a punch, which Maine also caught. The two stood there, both grabbing each other's fists and squeezing as hard as they could. They were both pushing with all their might, but this was an unstoppable force facing an immovable object. Their feet dented the metal floor beneath them when both monsters refused to give an inch.

"You're out of your league," Penn growled at Maine. "You can't beat the best Freelancer here." Maine gripped even tighter and pushed even harder.

"New best, now," he spoke in his deep, terrifying voice. Penn could see his reflection in Maine's visor. It was a perfect mirror. He could see the destroyed arena behind him, and the spectator box, filled with the other Freelancers. Then he saw her. Standing in her teal armour… just watching… judging.

Penn ground his teeth and pushed forward. Suddenly Maine's knee buckled, and the arena erupted into the sound of shattering bones as Maine's fist collapsed. Maine dropped to one knee and Penn quickly grabbed the underside of his helmet. He ripped Maine back and draped his body over his knee. Penn stood in the arena, Maine lying backwards over his knee, a scene Carolina hoped she would never have to see again.

"NO!" York yelled. "PENN! Don't do it!" Penn stared at the spectator box as those little voices began speaking once again. Penn scanned the faces in the booth until his eyes fell on the Director.

"Control your anger." Penn took some deep breaths, and let go. Maine rolled off of his knee and onto the ground. Penn pulled off his helmet and held it tightly at his side. He leaned down so his head was near Maine's.

"You'll never be… what I have become." Maine could hear Penn walking away, but everything else was a blur. He couldn't feel any pain, but couldn't move any of his fingers on his right hand. He pushed himself off the ground and onto his hands and knees. He could feel people grabbing at his armour, probably medics. Maine looked up and saw York standing over him. York's words before the match were still alive in the air, like they were mocking Maine. York reached out his hand to help Maine up. There was a moment of silence, before Maine erupted off the ground and grabbed York's throat with his broken hand. He rammed York's back into a pillar and held him there.

"Maine," York muttered. "Chill out. I'm your friend here… remember? We're teammates."

Maine stared at him, with no emotions escaping from his faceless visor. Maine's grip loosened and he let go of York. York rubbed his neck and shrugged his shoulders. "We need a new way to shake hands, dude," he chuckled.

Maine didn't say anything and instead turned to look in the direction Penn had left. York slapped Maine on the shoulder, making him refocus on the tan soldier. "Don't sweat it, man. Hand-to-hand… kind of Penn's thing. You know what? Screw the whole 'winner gets a beer thing.' Let me grab _you_ some beer tonight, big guy. What'dya say?"

Maine turned his head away and began to walk out of the arena. "So… that's a no to the beer? C'mon, man."

Maine stopped and lowered his head, but didn't turn to look at York again. He spoke deep under his breath. "This is not over," he murmured, then lifted his head and continued to walk away. Maybe it was the acoustics of the room, or just something in York's ear. But Maine's words didn't sound like words…they just seemed like a growl.


	44. Chapter 43: The Modern Prometheus

**(A/N) Hey all! Sorry that this is going up a but late, but I've just announced the authors for our Grifball fic, which should be up and running soon, so look out for that! This chapter has to be one of my favourites, and I can honestly say that I worry about WargishBoromirFan, or Warg as we call him, because Georgia is more alive in my mind than any fictional character has any right to be. I KNOW you'll all enjoy this, because it is, to be frank, incredible.**

**Have to say, our new guys are shaping up pretty well! :) To those interested, we're still looking for writers for our X-Ray and Vav fic that we have in the works, so get on down to our forum!**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter Forty-Three – The Modern Prometheus**

**Agent Georgia**

**Written by WargishBoromirFan**

* * *

"_I have no special talent. I am only passionately curious._" - Albert Einstein

* * *

Overall, Georgia would have to mark his first day as an official agent of Project Freelancer as interesting, and the night didn't yet seem out of surprises, even after the paint was chipped off, Maine had been escorted to the medical bay, and Ark had left the rest of the new recruits to catch their bearings on the observation deck while he went to look in on their injured comrade, waving off his roommate's curiosity with a muttered comment to pay attention to the remaining senior Freelancers and catch him up to speed later.

There was nothing saying that they had to stick around; the official introduction to the project ended about the same time that the Dakotas had claimed their last victim. Alaska had certainly ghosted out before the second fight had properly finished, and Virginia and Wyoming didn't stick around to congratulate Penn on his victory, either, so far as the big man in dark blue accepted praise for his win. Agent Pennsylvania took the Director's silent nod as something near criticism as much as a compliment. Penn's eyes narrowed, and he didn't even seem to notice Georgia or the other rookies as he blazed out of the training facility.

But even so, it didn't hurt to see what the unofficial welcoming committee of York and Massa had planned for the rest of the rookies, at least so long as they didn't pull anything too stupid now that the bosses had left with Florida and Carolina in tow. Could be fun.

On one hand, York had given the new recruits a standing invitation for beer and a televised ball game - two things dear to Georgia's soul, even if he'd never heard of the sport in question. On the other, North had been the first to accept, and while the purple-armoured man seemed a nice enough gent when he wasn't handing one one's now completely pink ass, South was the first to refuse, and her brother's response seemed to set her off even further.

"Now here's a show that warrants beer and a bag of chips," California muttered to Georgia, taking in the sight of the top two new recruits turning on each other with just a hint of vengeful glee in his shining blue eyes.

"Well, it ain't really a fair fight," Georgia replied, tilting his head closer to the agent in white and red as they considered the night's impromptu alternative entertainment. North was on the defensive, trying to placate his sister without giving up his own plans, while the sibling better suited for close-quarters combat moved in for the kill. "Ten on South-"

The rest of Georgia's wager was cut off as both male rookies were seized by their shoulders and dragged away from the impending confrontation. "I think we'll have to take a rain-check, York. Thank you for the offer, though." Massa's smile was motherly, in the same way that Georgia's mother's had been with four boys who didn't know when it was better to stop running their mouths and back away. "South, Mich, why don't you come by our place tonight? It'd be nice to get some girl time in, maybe get away from the testosterone for a bit," she suggested with very solid "playful" swats to Georgia and Cal's backs.

Neither of the new female Freelancers looked particularly enthused by the suggestion, South turning from her brother like a coyote interrupted in her hunt, and Michigan glancing between the two women from the corner she had parked herself in as if unsure which of them had the bigger screw loose. The other newbie to have remained on the observation deck, Sota, looked as if he were attempting to use his grey and white colour scheme to meld into the wall. He hadn't even pulled his helmet off yet.

"Sure," South backed off as abruptly as she'd gone after her brother, "No sense in trying to watch their backs. I ought to revel in whatever time_he_ doesn't spend hovering over me. Let's go out, make friends, swap the latest gossip with Carolina." The taller blonde hooked arms with Mich with about the same gentleness and subtlety as she had delivered left hooks in training, offering the only person she'd known since before joining the project a withering grimace poorly disguised as a cheery smile.

Michigan resisted South's pull just enough to make the purple-armoured woman pause and meet her eye before they started off. Massachusetts didn't release her captives until the other ladies had walked out the door, then patted their shoulders more gently as she let out a sigh. "Well, only one with physical damage today. Have a good night, boys." With that, she turned and followed them out.

North scratched awkwardly at the back of his head. "Sorry, I guess we kinda killed the party mood there…"

"You really are determined to propel yourselves up the board. Guess I'd better watch out," York joked. "Maybe later, then. You guys know where to find me if you need drunken advice." The senior Freelancer offered them a lazy two-fingered salute. "You're lucky to have her," he added in a more serious undertone to North.

"Yeah," the blond replied with a lopsided grin. "She means well. She's just…" North offered a shrug as Cal suggested his own end to that sentence.

"Severely paranoid and co-dependent?"

"I was going to say 'South,'" North responded easily enough. He still looked both ways down the corridors before following York out the door. "Hey, wait up!"

"Guess it's not paranoia if it keeps 'em up top," Georgia said. "Ark mentioned goin' to check on the big guys after their match. Anybody wanna help organize Room 6401 for their triumphant return?" Pulling a roll of duct tape from his in-armour supply kit, the green-armoured freelancer spun it suggestively around a finger.

"You think the Director knew what he was in for, sticking those two in the same room?" Sota wondered aloud, finally coming off the wall. They'd all been warned away from Penn by the more experienced agents, at least while the big blue-armoured man was in a temper. Maine had seemed like the best fit for a roommate on the surface, quiet and bulky enough not to invite attempts at intimidation. Not that such would have worked on Georgia; he'd never feared a linebacker or Jiralhanae he'd ever faced, but his usual tactics did tend to end up with a pissed-off brute running straight in his direction, intent on driving his teeth into the dirt, some yards away from the rest of his head. Maine was calm enough not to invite the same trouble, his every move conducted with such economy that Georgia almost did feel sorry for whoever the bald man went loose upon.

Trouble was, when Maine did let loose, it had been with the blue monolith of easily conducted rage standing in his way. And Pennsylvania hit back hard. Maine had put up a good fight, one that Georgia would be proud to give, but the senior roommate had come away the bloodied victor. And while there was always the chance that the two of them would be spending plenty of time by themselves in the hospital wing, eventually, Penn and Maine would be pushed back together in very small quarters, one bunk next to the other, metal walls, hard floors, and a thick titanium door.

Georgia wasn't sure if enough duct tape existed in the universe to fix this.

"Well, maybe they'll keep their fighting confined to their room," California suggested. "Just have it out now and then be all hunky-dory once the bleeding stops. At least the rest of us won't necessarily have to listen to the bedlam in the animal house."

"Least we can do is help mark territory," Georgia said. Arkansas had been muttering about the two bigger agents lacking boundaries, and if all else failed, there was always the method Georgia and his own brothers had favoured to denote demarcations of personal space. As long as it was installed by an objective third party, everything should be equal, and Ark's visit might at least keep Maine distracted long enough for Georgia to put it into play without any worries from that end. Now there was simply the matter of making sure Penn stayed out of the line of attack for long enough… If the big blue guy had anybody who could keep him calmed down, Georgia didn't know it. Even the Counselor seemed to stand back from that one. Georgia didn't mind running interference, but then who'd be in charge of installing electroshock wires calibrated to respond to two different specific armour sets in opposite hemispheres of the floor? Wouldn't want it to just zap anybody who walked in. Then one might as well just prop the bucket of used motor oil over the door and have done with it.

Sota shook his head, still considering the roll of tape twirling about Georgia's finger warily. "I don't want to get involved, there. Those guys are more trouble than they're worth."

"Come on, they had t've said that 'bout just about any of us. Doesn't make us bad people." A brewing problem between comrades might offer Georgia a puzzle for his downtime, but there was nothing like someone saying that it couldn't be solved to really bring his focus upon the issue.

"Yeah, they probably say that about some of us more frequently than others." California rolled his eyes before throwing his helmet back on. "I'll stop by the med bay and see how Maine's doing before we see if we can find somewhere to catch the game."

"Say hey for me," Georgia said, going through a mental list of all the more experienced Freelancers who might be of help; at least California would be providing some moral support while leaving before he'd gotten any damning concrete evidence in case of later interrogation. Maybe Carolina or Florida could corral Penn; Alaska might know where to find some extra conducting line on short notice… And sooner or later, he'd need some way to enter into the room to set it up and C4 tended to leave such an obvious trail…

"Hey for you," Cal responded automatically, raising a hand in farewell. "You coming, Sota?"

The taller man in white and grey shook his head. "I'm gonna hit the showers," Minnesota begged off. "Then probably go to bed. It's been a long day."

"Hey, out here in space, the day never ends, right?" Cal leaned back through the doors for one last crack. Georgia and Sota followed him out, fanning off in their separate directions.

Georgia wasn't quite sure where to start, so he fell back on an old engineering reflex - when in doubt, hit the motor pool. From there, he could scramble up some supplies and maybe get some of the gossip on where the rest of the veteran Freelancers spent their downtime. The training floor seemed conspicuously empty after Penn's victory, but one dark look from the Director and the rest of the agents decided they'd had enough practice for one day. Sure, it'd be good to get some trick shooting in - there was a freestanding range somewhere around here, too; Georgia would have to see if anyone had decided to relax with a nice bullpup and a box of clays - but it wasn't worth it if the bosses didn't even stick around to see what he could do. A little time underneath the ol' bus would be just as calming and net him the wiring needed for when he could sneak into Maine and Penn's room and get it organized for them.

It took him a couple wrong turns to find the entrance, but his sense of smell had led him to the confluence of oil, petrol, and steel that was the collection of tanks, planes, and troop carriers, even in the mute recycled air of the_Mother_, HUD unnecessary. The Close-Quarters helmet was nice for combat, offering better protection from shocks and jolts than the traditional Mark VI and a better range of vision than the Explosive Ordinance Disposal type he was used to, but it just wasn't quite as comfortable as his dented old EOD mod from the frontlines. He just needed to break this puppy in. Maybe even break it down, when he had time, but that project was pushed very far to the back as he wandered into the pool.

"Ah, now this is a place to spend a Friday night," Georgia sighed in wistful pleasure as he took in the half-dozen Pelicans, double row of Scorpion tanks, and fleet of Warthogs interspersed with custom and half-assembled vehicles. Between here and the armoury, it was like having his own toy store. He hadn't even been down to the Mother of Invention's main engine room yet, as Carolina didn't appear to find it all that needful to a rookie Freelancer's daily routine. "Maybe later," he promised the closest jeep, patting it fondly upon the fender. Right now, Georgia was here for wires and gossip. "Now there's a beaut of a lady," he said, raising his head and voice in the direction of a pilot and Pelican he recognized from landing.

"If you're giving up and trying to sneak a ride home, there are better ways than trying to butter me up," 479er shot back, not looking up from maintenance of her bird.

"Oh, her pilot's here, too." Georgia couldn't help but grin. "Not to worry about that, Miz Niner, but I was wonderin' if I could pick your brain for a minute."

Niner snorted, eyes on the diagnostics readout. "Think it'd take you longer than a minute to get anything, but if that's as long as your attention span lasts, why not?"

"Wondered if you might be able to give me a better idea of where and how the other Freelancers end up while they're off duty. Figured you and 343-R would be the ones to ferry 'em to shore leave." While the occasional poke was all in good fun - bit of maintenance to one's sense of humour, in Georgia's eyes, - it didn't do to make the people one depended on feel completely unwanted. Couldn't accomplish thrilling heroics without anyone to properly appreciate how grand an effort they truly were, after all.

"You think we have time to take you kids on field trips in the middle of deep space? Or that I'd waste my free time hanging out with you?" Niner snorted. "That's real cute, newbie."

Well, he had suspected that shore leave was pretty rare, outside of missions. Carolina and Penn, at least, had seemed so fixated on what the next target would be that Georgia figured they'd be doing something Freelancer-related even when there wasn't a project in the works, but they were heading up the leader board, so there probably was something to that laser focus of their tightly-wound springs. They just didn't look like they got out enough. "I just figure you notice things in this ship that we don't, seeing as you're around here more and get to look into places we can't mosey 'round that often."

"You would be surprised," was all Niner was willing to respond. "The Director favors you Freelancers a whole lot more than us mere pilots, for reasons he doesn't bother explaining to me. Go bug somebody who cares, rookie."

"And where would that person be?" Georgia continued with shameless guilelessness.

Finally, he'd provoked her enough to make eye contact. She just gave him a flat stare, but it was a start. "Do you listen at all?"

"Every word, Miz Niner." He leaned forward, grinning despite himself.

"Will you at least go away if I throw a stick? Or do I need to break out something heavier?" She cocked back with an extra screw in hand.

"Well, some electric transduction cable would be nice," he said, catching the screw in his helmet before it hit him in the face. He hoped it didn't ding the visor. Niner chucked pretty hard.

"Next time you want to mooch, fill out a goddamn requisition form." A tangle of wire was hastily dumped atop the outstretched green helmet and the pilot shooed him away. Well, he'd gotten half of what he'd come for, at least.

Maybe he should try to track down Penn and look in on Maine; it'd be easier to set up if they had signalling frequencies placed in their boots instead of trying to look up their individual armour channels. Might be able to borrow Maine's key, too, depending on how many the painkillers the medics gave him for that hand. Besides, Ark would say it was just the proper thing to do, checking on a wounded teammate yourself…

Well, as long as he could still make the personal space a nice little surprise. He'd start on the shock transponders now, put them in when he could get to both Maine and Penn before either of them got back to their room, and make sure he laid down the duct tape boundary. He had to be fair, after all.

Equipment and supplies to hand, Georgia headed on back towards his own room, rattling the unattached screw in his helmet with each step. He leaned against the bulkhead, balancing the cable under one arm as he fiddled with the lock to the door, mind on assembly, when he heard mutterings further down the dormitory corridor.

"Clever, _MOI_, but you must have something for me," the deep voice spoke to no one that Georgia could make out. The senior agent's glacier eyes were focused some middle distance past the ship wall, so far appearing to ignore his fellow Freelancer as Georgia hastily dumped his supplies and attempted to catch up with a prime source of data. He'd heard around that Alaska could tell one just about anything one wanted to know about the daily bustle around the ship; it was mostly a matter of getting him in a mood to talk and not break one in half.

"Hey there, Alaska, innit? I'm Georgia; pleased to meetcha. How goes the ship maintenance you got going on here?" Unsure if he would be getting in the way, Georgia chose to bend over at the kneeling man's right side, further away from the wall, head cocked approximately parallel with the floor as he peeked around Alaska for the issue.

Now certainly, Georgia well understood the observational portion of a mechanic's day - the time spent staring at some broken bit of rubbish and willing it to give up its secrets before one had to give up, curse it, and bust it apart for scrap - and more than one of his college year-mates had been religious about their conversations with whatever equipment they were in charge of keeping running. But usually, unless it was just a fond cuff to the paper tray as one was passing by, actual labor generally required tools - a readout monitor, screwdrivers, at least a couple spare paperclips and a roll of duct tape - and Alaska carried none of these in his possession. He didn't even have a panel open, and there was nothing about this section of steel to separate it from any other part of the bulkhead. Maybe he was just checking for dents; there were a lot of pilots who got all hot and bothered about a harmless little shrapnel ding or burn mark, though this interior crew-level corridor seemed an odd place to find either finicky ship owners or firefight debris.

Alaska's gaze snapped to focus on the unwanted interloper at last. "I was speaking with the lady. You have interrupted her."

Georgia's head swivelled slowly, body still hunched forward. Though the new Freelancer was no pencil-necked weakling, - he'd been on the varsity football team; a third-string safety rather than a linebacker, but big enough to look most men in the eye nonetheless, - Alaska made him slow when affixed with that cold blue glare. "Didn't hear anybody else talkin' to you." Nor was there any woman in the immediate area, and with his helmet off, it seemed less likely for the giant to be communicating over the radio.

Alaska stayed quiet for approximately three breaths longer than was comfortable, eyes still focused on the new meat. "Doubtlessly she would withhold conversation from a boor such as yourself; the others would be wise to follow her example." The dorm hallway remained oddly quiet, no one else in sight. Surely Sota should be stumbling back from the showers right about now, or the girls would be loud enough to be heard out in the hall… How far was the rec room from here, again? Georgia couldn't hear the game broadcast.

"So who is this lady, then? 'Moi?'" Foreign languages, outside a few choice curses, had been left forgotten several alien battlefields back, but the word conjured a hazy memory of some musical a former girlfriend had dragged him to a couple years ago. "You talking to your feminine side, Sir Lancerlot? Didn't look like you had one."

Alaska stood up. The black-and-red-armoured man was a little taller, definitely broader about the shoulder than Georgia had remembered from their brief contact earlier in the day. Penn and Maine might overshadow him, but not by that much. "I would advise you to control your tongue before someone does it for you."

"Can't learn that much if you never ask," the younger man shrugged with scrape-grace good humour. "I just like takin' the direct route."

"The most direct route would be a blow to your larynx, as it is currently unprotected by bone or armour. There is, of course, a good deal of skin and muscle before one reaches your tongue proper, but it would at least cut off further vocalization." The big pale man in red had a very worrying way of staring at one's throat, as if contemplating the best method for removing it. He didn't so much as twitch a finger, but somehow that made it worse. "Be assured, the extra effort world be very little trouble for me."

"Good for you." He was not going to so much as blink at this uncomfortable attention. All right, Georgia had blinked, but somebody had to every hour at least. "Don't suppose you'd be interested in joining me in a wiring session later tonight?" Team bonding activities were always good for defusing tension. "After you've finished talkin' to your lady friend, of course."

"I shall see you around the ship." Alaska nodded once, slowly, not in enthusiasm but dismissal. Those glacier blue eyes never left Georgia's.

Georgia shrugged, deliberately turning back to his room. "Well, I was gonna leave Penn a little post-victory surprise, somethin' really electrifying, but it is hard to find a way in and I don't know when he'll be back."

Alaska was silent for a few minutes more. But out of the corner of his eye, Georgia could see his lips twist in contemplation. "Your gift to Agent Penn involves several meters of un-insulated metal wire?"

"Housewarming gift for him and Maine, really. Y'know what they say about good fences," Georgia clarified.

The twist in Alaska's lips almost resembled a smile. "Your way would be easier if you opened your ears and listened. I can assure you time to attempt the access codes before he arrives."

"Mighty nice of you, Alaska." The big man could be a fount of helpfulness; one just had to learn how to approach him. He'd already turned back to his conversation with the wall by the time the new Freelancer in green and pink had opened the door.

Georgia cracked his knuckles, beginning work on the transponders on the littered desk that would serve as workbench as much as anything else. Having just moved in, it wasn't too crowded yet, but he also hadn't quite decided on proper places for all his little toys. A couple small items had technically rolled into Arkansas's side of the room, but what Ark wasn't there to see couldn't hurt him. Boundaries were all well and good, but sometimes a man just had to reach past them to achieve greatness.

It took him longer than he'd planned to get a decent prototype working; he stripped out of the armour and ran some water over his face as much to have an excuse for why it'd had taken him so long to stop by the med bay as much as to get the grease off, forcing his unruly hair under a ball cap. The coveralls and t-shirt felt light after being in the armour so long, almost too light. A tool belt containing the modified spark plugs alongside his usual necessities certainly offered a little reassuring weight, as did the pistol tucked into the right leg pocket. He wasn't planning on having to use any of them, but it never hurt to be prepared. The addition of an old, well-worn penny into the left-hand waist pocket completed his ensemble; he might have been beaten out on the floor, but as his grandfather had always said, with a penny in his pocket, he'd never been broke.

Never knew when a little extra copper-zinc alloy would come in handy, either. Good conductor.

He whistled on his way down to the medical bay, keeping his eyes open for anyone else who might be haunting the halls, Penn and Alaska, especially. Passing by Massa and Virginia's room, he thought he heard at least one voice, but there was no one else out and about at this hour. Apparently the medics hadn't released Maine tonight, and Ark was loyal enough to try to keep vigil until they did. Well, maybe he could at least give his roommate a break in the watch, if it'd make Arkansas feel better to know that there was somebody there; it was only a broken hand, nothing life-threatening, after all. The potential threat to Maine's life was only his roommate.

The medic on duty considered Georgia somewhat suspiciously over his coffee mug, but waved him past when Georgia opened his hands and announced his intentions to check on Maine. Maybe he was getting a lot of visitors tonight; all the better for both of them.

"Hey, y'all, how's it going?" Georgia knocked softly upon the door as he opened it, catching sight of Arkansas slouched in a chair near the front corner, still in his armour. Maine grunted with a noncommittal shrug, waving his bandaged hand.

"The doctors say that the cast should come off pretty soon; they're just keeping him overnight for observation since those little bones aren't easy to set straight," Ark translated. And for a field soldier, especially a brawler like Maine, it was important that all those joints moved freely without any extra give. "You just missed Cal, earlier."

"Glad to hear he stopped by," Georgia replied, pouncing upon a chair of his own and pulling it up to Maine's other side across from his roommate. "They treating you pretty well, here? Been through a lot of hospitals, myself, and I can tell you that state o' the art equipment doesn't always mean good service. Or food." Speaking of which, he really hadn't eaten anything since lunch, which was several hours, a good long tussle, and a fair amount of effort spent bent over his makeshift worktable on a project ago, as his stomach was suddenly reminding him with vengeful force. "They served you dinner here yet?"

"'Sokay," Maine mumbled with another lift of those big shoulders, turning his gaze more toward his feet than his visitors. For such a fearless bruiser, the bald man could be awfully easy to discomfit when faced with the direct onslaught of Georgia's companionability. He had reacted rather uncomfortably to Florida, as well, as if he didn't know what to do with a social situation that didn't involve weapons - or at least not weapons pointed at people. Maine waved vaguely at a mostly empty tray - to Georgia's small, selfish disappointment, the pudding was long gone. "Be fine."

"So how about you?" Georgia turned to his roommate. "Cal give you the chance to get to get down to the cafeteria?"

Ark raised a dark brow, giving Georgia a long, piercing look before rolling his eyes. "Let me guess: you're hungry and looking for someone to play delivery boy."

"I just figured you haven't eaten, either." There were some advantages to military life; Georgia for one was not going to skip on freely available resources just because someone thought he was above a pantry raid. "Come on, Maine said he's gonna be fine, right, man?" This at least earned a thumbs-up from the one free pale thumb. "The doctors say he's gonna be fine, so why don't we get a bite and come back later if you really wanna baby-sit." This earned Georgia annoyed looks from both other men in the room. "You want us to bring you anything back, Maine?"

The grunt in response was not only negative, but rather verging upon hostile.

"We'll let you catch some shut-eye, then, and see you in the morning," Georgia said with a wave, ghosting a transponder out of his tool belt in a practiced sleight of hand and passing by the discarded Mark IV suit to toss it down a white boot. "I know everybody's probably already tellin' you this, what with the fight and all, but as good as you stood up to him, I wouldn't come too near Penn for a while. Don't think he should come too near you, either," he added with a tip of his ball cap and a quick wink, which seemed to mollify the wounded man somewhat. Maine's farewell was silent, stone-faced, but a nod all the same.

Arkansas chewed his lip as he exited behind Georgia, eyes on the man beyond the door. "I'm really not trying to get involved, much less baby-sit," Ark spat the final word, "but we're all going to be on the same team, right?"

Georgia bobbed his head, trying to offer him some encouragement. "There's bound to be a little hazing and head-butting while we all find our way in, but we're gettin' there."

"I wish we could skip that and just act like soldiers. We're the best of the best, right? That sometimes ought to include discipline." Ark shook off his preoccupied air rather unsuccessfully, but at least caught even with his roommate and attempted to offer a more chipper tone. "Thanks for coming down, though. I was hoping that as long as Maine knows he's got friends here, he won't be quite so likely to do that again."

"At least he knows he's got backup."

This didn't seem to reassure Ark in the least. "I guess I ought to go check in on Penn, too, so that I don't look like I'm playing favourites."

"After dinner," Georgia insisted. He really ought to be able to find a mess hall, even at this hour, - it couldn't be too far from the medical bay. Ark'd probably know.

The workout and long day were starting to get to the armoured Freelancer's stomach as well. He looked somewhat distracted by the idea of food. "Maybe we'll see him there."

"Or if not, you could help me into their room and we'll install something for both of them," Georgia suggested. There were advantages to rooming with a guy with lock-picking paraphernalia tucked under his desk. Which Georgia had only seen because he was trying to tidy up after his own personal useful hobby. And only recognized because of that night in junior year when he and a couple of buddies had taken up the proud tradition involving a bulldog, gold paint, a tuba, and wood-grain alcohol.

"Hey, when'd you get the chance to go through the personnel dossiers? You know I only use my powers for good, man." Ark elbowed him.

"I have my ways." Georgia mimed adjusting a pair of invisible spectacles further up his nose. While he made a very poor impression of the Director in rumpled, half-zipped mechanic's coveralls and a graphic tee, it never hurt to borrow just a little of the mystery. Ark raised an eyebrow, poker-faced as he attempted to figure out whether or not Georgia was serious. "Besides, this mission's not just for good, it's for awesome."

"Let me consider it over a full stomach. With details." Ark led them back into the cafeteria. While relatively quiet, Georgia was pleased to see the hall wasn't completely dead. Night crew members wandered in and out of the kitchen, some just pausing long enough to refill a mug of joe, others sitting down to poke suspiciously at a late-night dinner. A cafeteria was a cafeteria, but overall, the grub here seemed pretty good, even when one was forced to reheat it oneself - at least they had chicken.

Georgia heaped himself a plateful while explaining the very basics of the plan to Ark. He tried not to get too technical with laymen, knowing how his most of his family phased him out when he started talking shop.

"Georgia…" Arkansas took a bite of his roll while digesting his thoughts. "How do I put this gently? You are nuts. Completely bonkers. But if you can shock people through their armour, couldn't you rewire it to let them set off an electric shock out of their armour? Like lightning fingers or something?"

"Huh." That did present some clever possibilities. After all, Penn and Maine would see each other in places besides their room, and other agents might find it useful on missions, if there were some way to power it on the move… A slow grin blossomed on Georgia's face, not exactly refuting his roommate's declaration. "Ark, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."


	45. Chapter 44: Welcoming Committee

**(A/N) Hey all! It's Wednesday, Wednesday gotta get down on...whatever. New update time! Another incredible chapter from the genius that is OhSoDeadly (More like OhSoBrilliant) and you know what that means! Another Florida chapter! ****If you enjoy this even a fraction of the amount I did, then you will...have a lot of enjoyment. Which is good. This chapter occurs pretty much simultaneously to Georgia's, and the next few chapters will occur in the same time period. Just letting you know, so there's no confusion.**

**Our Grifball applications are officially CLOSED, and that fic will be up and running in a few weeks, so look out for it! We've got some big things planned. We're still looking for writers for our X-Ray and Vav fic, so get on down to our forum and apply! We won't bite...much!**

**Enjoy!**

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**Chapter Forty-Four – Welcoming Committee**

**Agent Florida**

**Written by OhSoDeadly**

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"_Welcome to the jungle, we've got fun and games__  
__We got everything you want honey, we know the names__  
__We are the people that can find whatever you may need__  
__If you got the money honey we got your disease." _

– 'Welcome to the Jungle', Guns 'n' Roses

* * *

Florida stared at the book in his hands. The text stared right back at him, uncompromising black lines. His eyes managed to pick out a few distinct words: "suddenly", "visitation" and "outsider", but the book as a whole was being stubborner than an Arcadian moose-mule. He just couldn't get into the darned thing!

Ahhh, well. It wasn't the poor ol' book's fault-it was just some paper'n'ink stuck together after all! No, Florida decided, setting the small novel aside, it wasn't the book's fault. The inability to focus was all up in his thinking cap, and he reflexively felt for it. Gosh, his hair was thinning out like a cornfield at harvest time! He would have to find himself a comb or something to make sure he looked his best when he was off-duty. '_It only matters what's on the inside of a man,_his dad had said, _but sprucing up the outside never hurt.'_

But even this thought slowly became eclipsed and swallowed up like beans at breakfast as he turned to the reason why he was feeling so out of sorts. It had been on him ever since he, York, Massa and Virginia had been interrupted in the training room by the ship rocking around like a…he frowned, and kneaded his forehead. He couldn't' even conjure up a suitable analogy! What a bust.

It was just like the Director had said. War. And while Florida had fought in wars before, was no stranger to it, and was prepared to get out their and give the enemy heck…well. He just wasn't sure. Fighting those nasty aliens had been, if not easier, simpler. They were a bunch of monsters that needed to be put down, and humans were the plucky underdogs, just like in the stories! But fighting rebels was…tricky. They were sly. Didn't fight fair, by gum. How many poor guys and gals had died during Operation Trebuthingy? Too darned many.

He became dimly aware of talk going on around him, and he shook his head to clear the buzz. He had been sitting in the rec room, and-he glanced at the chronometer above the door-had been for quite some time! He frowned to himself. If he was going to insist on being bone idle, the least he could do was make himself sociable. He perked up his ears and paid attention.

"-and beat him! I still can't believe it." Massa was holding court, with Virginia and Wyoming listening keenly. All of them were in their armour, but helmets were off. Wyoming was stroking his lip-caterpillar meditatively, while Virginia's long dark hair pooled around her shoulders. He wondered what they were talking about.

"Personally, I'm surprised they didn't kill each other, m'dear," Wyoming said, in that affable way of his. "Pennsylvania is already a caveman wearing armour, but this new chap, Maine? Just as bad. No, worse, actually."

"How so?" Virginia interjected quietly. Always a quiet one, Virginia. Unless Carolina was in the same room. Those two needed to sort it out once and for all, Florida reflected. Heck, maybe an impromptu sparring match like he and Alaska had done…

Wyoming grimaced. "I was listening during their little bout. Penn might be a brute, but he can actually speak the Queen's good English. Maine snaps and snarls like a rabid hound. I haven't heard him say a bloody word; have you?"

The other two shook their heads. Florida did the same. He recalled the nasty scrap between their Penn and the newcomer, a hulking beast of a man who went by Maine. Such a small name for a big fella! That helmet of his gave Florida the willies. You couldn't see anything except that blank gold bubble, and he never depolarised it. Maybe he was just shy? Or he had some facial scarring left over from the war? Only the man himself would know, and like Wyoming had said, he wasn't much for talk.

"Well, I suppose we'll get to know him as time goes on," Massa said, shrugging. "First rule of Project Freelancer: learn to play nice. Even with those you'd rather not." Saying this, she sent a meaningful glance towards Virginia, who raised her hands indignantly. "What are you looking at me for?"

Massa laughed scornfully. "One word, starts with C. Nothing yet? OK, it has red hair. Ooh, come on, I practically gave you that one!"

"Carolina's the one with the problem, not me," Virginia responded coolly, flicking a strand of hair away from her right eye. "I get along with her most of the time. I get along with mostly everyone, as a matter of fact. Even you, Wyoming."

"Oh come now, Virginia," Wyoming interjected, seemingly ignoring her jibe, "you and her have been at each other's throat since our first day. My advice is, settle it once and for all. Leaderboard be damned." He pounded a fist into a plan to underline his point.

Virginia snorted. "Thanks, but I might just take a raincheck on that advice. The last thing we need around here is more fights. Especially with the new recruits onboard, they'd think we were an asylum, not a special warfare group." Massa conceded the point with an absent "too right, mate", and tilted her head back to stare at the ceiling.

Wyoming still hounded the point, however. "I'm telling you, a good fight is the best way to settle things. Take our good friend Alaska. He was cock of the walk until Florida here showed him a thing or two about combat!" He chuckled, folding his arms. "Bloody hilarious, that fight."

All eyes suddenly turned to him, and Florida found himself shrinking back a little. He wasn't accustomed to being the centre of attention-that is, unless it was a fight. _The problem with being still is that it's easier for things to catch up to you that way,_his pa had said ruefully once, and feeling a mite stupid was bound to be one of them. He swallowed a bit, and tried to laugh it off. It came out a bit forced. "Ah, well, you know, just seemed like a good idea at the time?"

"Well in that case, you should have good ideas more often, Florida," Massa said sardonically, still staring at the ceiling, "there are a few loose screws on this ship still. Like that goddamned medic, Killian Something. Gets the job done, I'll give him that, but have you seen the way he dresses? Like an acid trip in candyland."

They all had a good laugh at that, and the tension dispelled. Florida grinned openly, already feeling a heck of a lot better. Good times with friends, now there was the best medicine! A shame that they all weren't here, though. He looked around the room. "Where's York?"

"Getting in some quality time with that new guy, what was his name? North Dakota?"

"Yeah, "Virginia quietly confirmed.

"Looks like York might have found another dudebro type to hang out with on the ship!" Massa sighed, plumping her hands behind her head. "And having one was bad enough."

"Have you even met him yet, Massachusetts?" Wyoming asked dryly, polishing a gauntlet against his chest-plate. At her shake of the head, he continued, "Well, take it from one who knows, North Dakota seems like a capable young man. Easy-going, quiet. Seems like a perfect fit for the team, if you ask me. Being the lone sniper on this team was becoming tiresome."

"Lone sniper?" Virginia asked sharply, sitting up suddenly.

"Awww, was poor widdle Wyoming getting fed up with sniping?" Massa snickered, ignoring her roomates indignation. "Who knows, maybe North Dakota could give you a run for your money."

"I highly doubt that, seeing as he's a new arrival. Besides, you three have been here as long as I have, and…ahem. Well." He motioned vaguely in the direction of the leaderboard, glowing pale blue in the corner of the room, and smiled.

And just like that, the tension was back. Virginia and Massa glared venomously at Wyoming, who looked back at them smugly. It could only have been worse if Penn and Alaska had been there. Both a pair of men who were like volcanoes with arms and legs, and wouldn't have taken kindly to Wyoming's jibes.

He decided to intercede, before things got really ugly. "Now come on, Wyoming, "he said reprovingly, "that's not very nice of you. Mass and Virginia work as hard as anyone-"

"I don't need you to defend me, Florida, "Massa snapped suddenly, no longer looking skyward. "Just back off, ok? Both of you." Virginia nodded, tight-lipped but still looking ticked off. Florida shrank back into his seat, cowed but also feeling quite a bit resentful. '_Well I did my best, you stubborn ol' harpies, have it your way!'_

Wyoming tut-tutted at this display of anger. "Typical Massachusetts."

"Come over here and say that, British-boy, and see how-"

The door to the room was suddenly flung open, and in stepped three people. None of them were readily identifiable to Florida, Massa, Virginia or Wyoming. Which meant…_new recruits._ The squabbling immediately ceased as all four of them turned or cranked their necks to get an eyeful of the newbies. Florida couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement. New teammates, gosh, how exciting! What kind of folks would they be?

The first one to walk in was a lady with spiky blonde hair, who was clad in purple-green armour. It looked like it might be good for a stealth mission of some kind, and this thought made him perk up a little. Maybe they'd get paired up at some point? Or, heck, maybe Wyoming could join too! They'd be like three super spies!

The second was a young man in white armour, with black hair cut short, eyes like blue laser beams and a grin bigger than a peeled banana across his face. From the look on the first woman's face, he'd been razzin' her about something and she was none too pleased. More shenanigans! Still, it was nice to see a friendly face and not more gloomy Guses. A nasty burn scar crossed his face, but the fella didn't seem to mind that they could all see it. Good for him!

And last of all, trailing behind the last two, another young fella, also with black hair and blue eyes, but looking far less at ease than Mr. Brightside, as Florida had mentally named him. As a matter of fact, he looked like he'd love nothing better than to not be there, with all these eyes on him. Poor kid was probably still settling in! Well, a good welcome usually smoothed things over, so he got to his feet and cleared his throat. "Hi there!"

The woman shot him a glance, looked him up and down and snorted rudely. "And who the hell are you supposed to be? The janitor? You look old enough to be my dad, old man."

Oh, wonderful! More nasty ninnies! Before he could grab this young whippersnapper by the ear and teach her some manners, Mr Brightside quickly stepped in between them. "Now come on, South, "he laughed, "if you're going to insult him, at least show some respect first. That's probably _Captain_Janitor to you!" At seeing Florida's expression, he tittered and slapped a hand on his shoulder. "Ahh, I'm just kidding buddy. You must be Agent Florida!"

Well now, that was more like it! _Boy's got a firm handshake,_he thought approvingly as they shook. "That's me! But how'd you know that?"

"Only guy in this project that's weird enough to wear a bandolier, "the woman, South, muttered. They both turned and frowned at her.

"Nothing wrong with a bandolier, young lady," Florida said sternly, shaking a finger. "And shouldn't you introduce yourself? That's how we do things here at Project Freelancer."

"Oh up yours, d-"

"WHOA NOW!" Mr Brightside raised his voice to a yell and brought the whole hubbub to a stop. "Let's rewind and take this from the top before someone loses an eye! I-" he pointed to himself dramatically-"am Cal, or Agent California if you've got the time of day. Pleased to meet you all, fellow badasses!" He leaned around Florida and waved at the others, who were still looking nonplussed.

"This tornado of feminine fire here is-ow!" He started hopping around as South stomped down on his foot. Massa laughed at the top of her lungs. Virginia rolled her eyes, Wyoming sniffed, and the third fella just continued to look elsewhere. Florida cocked an eyebrow in disbelief. '_What kind of loopy larries are these people?'_

"I can introduce myself, asshole," she snapped. Pushing past both of them, she folded her arms and gave the others a glare. "I'm South Dakota. Who are you people?"

Massa chuckled. "Oh, you've got a spark. Name's Massachusetts, or Massa. Nice to have another chick on the team, the current crop was getting stale." South laughed as well, and the two bumped fists. Virginia sniffed.

South rounded on her. 'What's your problem? Afraid of new competition or something?"

Virginia treated her to a mirthless smile. "Of you? Hardly. I'm Agent Virginia, and you'll find I'm quite the challenge. So watch your attitude." Her voice was stone cold serious-no joking around here.

South snarled, but before she could get out any more jibes, Wyoming cleared his throat. "I don't believe we've had the pleasure," he drawled. "Pleased to meet you, my dear South Dakota. I'm-"

Faster than a flash, Cal jumped in between them. "And you must be the MONOPOLY GUY!" he shouted.

There was a period of silence. Wyoming narrowed his eyes, but said nothing. Florida coughed uncomfortably. He had no darned idea what the heck had just happened.

Cal scratched his head sheepishly. "'Cause…you know…the mustache. It looks like…yeah."

"Riiiight." Massa rolled her eyes and pointed at the final, unnamed soldier, standing in the back. "And who's this strong silent type?"

Cal's mouth opened again, but a quiet voice cut him off pre-emptively. "I'm Minnesota." The young man had lifted his head and was looking at them directly now. "I'm new."

"Well no shit you're new!" South threw up her hands. "You're introducing yourself, aren't you?"

Minnesota twitched a little, but he maintained his gaze. He shrugged one shoulder. _He might not be much for talk,_Florida talked, _but he's now weakling, this one._

"Our orientation started a little while back," Cal was saying to Virginia. "Maybe you guys can give us some pointers? Always willing to listen to advice from experienced ladies." He winked at her, and she rolled her eyes again.

"Learn to be independent as well as a team-player." Virginia.  
"Don't suck." Massa.  
"Have a specialty. A real one, that is." Wyoming.

Florida grinned at them all. "And make some good friends along the way! Right, guys?"

They looked a little reluctant, but they all nodded. Cal rubbed his hands together. "Excellent! Can't wait to settle in!" He looked about the room, and jabbed a thumb towards the door. "Well, we're having ourselves a tour, so we're gonna roll out. Nice meeting you all! Massa, Florida, Wyoming and…" He snapped his fingers and pointed at Virginia. "Virginia, right?"

A cool nod.

Smiling sheepishly, Cal gave them all a farewell nod, and headed for the door. South followed him after a second, still muttering under her breath. Minnesota inhaled deeply, gave them all a curt nod, and left as well.

Massa exhaled, and shook her head. "Well, that was weird. What'd you think? They seem like they'll fit right in."

"Are you mad, woman?" Wyoming had found his voice again. "They're all insubordinate rascals! Completely unprofessional. I suppose Minnesota was rather inoffensive, but-"

"I'm sorry, did you just describe the newcomers, or the entire Freelancer outfit to date?" Virginia asked wryly. Massa and Florida both laughed, and Wyoming huffed.

Florida stood, and stretched his arms. "Well, we should make 'em feel as welcome as possible. They're our new brothers and sister now! They won't let us down, bet your bottom dollar." He smiled confidently.

Massa hummed in slight agreement, and tipped her head back again. After a few seconds, she said out loud:

"What the fuck is Monopoly?"


	46. Chapter 45: The Ball Game

**(A/N) Sup y'all! (Just changing it up a little). Another update, which takes place at around the same time as the last two chapters, as will the next two, ending this batch of chapters. We're seeing from the POV of North Dakota for the very first time here, and he'll be taking you on a wild ride over the remainder of this fic. This is written by another of our new writers, the sensational StormBlue!**

**Still looking for X-Ray and Vav, and I'll be putting up a deadline for applications sometime this week, so if you're interested, get down there immediately! What are you waiting for?! ;) **

**Enjoy! **

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**Chapter Forty-Five – The Ball Game**

**Agent North Dakota**

**Written by StormBlue**

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"_A friend shares the good times and helps out by listening during the bad times_." -Molly Oliver

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The Dakotas, as they were coming to be known, walked throughout the _Mother of Invention _together, still familiarizing themselves with the facilities of the ship, having reunited after South escaped Massachusetts' grasp, abandoning Michigan. North wasn't entirely sure what to think of Project Freelancer, but he saw nothing wrong with it, an experimental military program that was going to make them better soldiers somehow. If it helped win the war and North got a chance to protect people from threats such as the Insurrection, he could be content. His sister, South, was more pleased that they had been recruited into a top program such as this one, no matter how much she tried to hide it.

He nudged South - who had adjusted to their new code-names quicker than he had expected. "So what do you think?"

"About the other agents? They don't seem so tough to me," she replied with a shrug.

"Well, I meant about the Project in general."

South glanced over at him. "What about it? They give us equipment, and we do their dirty work for them. We have a job to do, and we do it."

"We're probably going to be here for a long time, and nobody is even allowed to know who we are." That was the part that confused North. If they were supposed to be a team, couldn't they at least get to know one another?

"Who cares? We get to go kill the bad guys, and they give us the means to do so. They chose _us _because we're the best." There was smugness in South's tone, and North knew that she enjoyed the superiority in combat she had always held with their previous squads.

"But we're leaving everything else behind. Doesn't that mean anything?" he asked gently. He had often wondered if she missed how things used to be, or wondered how things could have been.

She suddenly rounded on him. "No, North. It never means anything to me," she said sharply, and North was taken aback. He didn't say anything, and South turned away from him. "Besides...we have each other," she added, in a softer tone that was rare for her.

He laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. "We'll always have each other," he reassured her.

They stood there for a moment in a mutual silence that was only broken by the technicians and other personnel that passed them. South then shrugged, as if brushing off the whole conversation they had just had. "Whatever. Hey, I'm going to the training room. You coming?" she asked.

North shook his head. "No, you go ahead. I'll catch up with you later."

South nodded then turned and walked away from him. He watched her go, then turned back the way they had come. He didn't have a destination in mind, and even if he did he doubted he would be able to find it. These ships were like mazes. Maybe he could find a place where he could relax for a while, grab a drink, get to know his teammates a little better. He walked the corridors, passing various rooms, exchanging a kind word or two with those that he passed.

A yell sounded from farther down the hall, and North started slightly, on edge. However, it didn't sound like someone getting attacked, or even an angry yell. It was more...disappointed? The invitation made earlier that day to him, Georgia and Cal chimed dimly in his mind. He made his way toward the sound and stopped in a doorway, looking around at some kind of lobby. A place for the agents and personnel to relax. It was unoccupied right now, save for one corner where a brown-haired man was sprawled on a couch, watching a screen on the wall intently. This was...New York, if he remembered correctly, who just preferred to be called 'York'.

North turned his attention to the screen and saw a bunch of red and blue armoured people running around, all equipped with large hammers and energy swords. Grifball, the most popular sport of the 26th century. Interested, he moved closer, unnoticed by York. He appeared oblivious to everything except the game.

It was Team Elimination versus Team Majestic, and they'd had a pretty strong rivalry for a few years now. North watched the two teams skirmish around the room, players constantly lunging with their swords and blasts going off from the hammers in the fast-paced sport. Red-armoured Elimination was pounding on blue-armoured Majestic, who currently held the Grifball, but then one of the blue players swung the hammer at the orange-armoured player. Instead of getting hit by the heavy object, the orange player simply jumped and the blast the hammer made when it hit the ground threw Majestic's ball-carrier into the air, above the red players, giving him an easy score.

York erupted in a round of cheering as the bomb exploded and the commentators went crazy. "Whoo! Now that's what I'm talkin' about!"

"Nice teamwork!" North joined in.

York jumped and turned to North, a look of happy surprise on his face. "Been a fan long?" he asked, smiling.

"Yeah," North replied. "I used to watch Grifball all the time with my dad before-" he caught himself, then shook his head. "Never mind. We're supposed to leave our pasts behind us, right? So who's winning?"

York turned back to the screen. "Elimination is currently ahead, but I reckon it won't take long for Majestic to catch up. Majestic's my favorite team. You?"

"Same," North said with a smile.

"Well don't just stand there," York gestured to the seat next to him. "Come sit down, watch the game with me."

North complied, plopping down in the cushioned couch, and York handed him a bottle. North looked at it. "Is this beer? I thought that wasn't allowed on-board the ship."

"I have connections," York shrugged. North eyed the bottle for a second, then took a swig. There was nothing wrong with sharing a drink with a friend. York then changed the subject. "I'm so relieved to find someone else who watches Grifball. No one else here really appreciates sports, you know what I mean? Anyway, I'm York. You're North Dakota, right? Sorry about this, probably the ninetieth time I've had to ask for names today."

North chuckled, waving his apologies away. "Call me North."

The two reached out to shake hands, but were interrupted by a loud exclamation from the game and both turned immediately to watch. Team Elimination had just turned to the offensive and pulled off a complete wipe-out of Majestic, just bulldozing their way through to the goal and getting a score, jumping back before the Grifball exploded.

"Oh come on!" York shouted. "I mean, I know it's a violent game and all, but those guys are just brutal!"

"What are you two up to?"

North turned to the new voice behind them and saw that it belonged to the cheerful middle-aged agent, Florida. "We're watching Grifball," he said.

"Wanna come watch it with us?" York offered.

Florida leaned on the back of the couch, and watched for a minute. He complimented the designs of the weapons, then started talking about how dangerous the sport seemed. "Can't people find less violent ways to have fun?" They watched a red member get bashed by a hammer in an accidental betrayal from his teammate. "Is that even safe?"

"Of course," North reassured him. "There's safety precautions for everything."

"Yeah, but it's a sport. I mean, there's going to be some injuries no matter what you do, but it's all part of the game," said York.

Florida stood up and walked away, shaking his head and saying something about the interests of kids these days. York and North turned back to the game, with the player currently on a five-minute break.

"So that's Florida," North commented.

"Yeah. That guy is always happy about something. I haven't seen him lose his cool over anything, save for that one time he challenged Alaska to a one-on-one."

"He challenged Alaska? How did that go?" North didn't underestimate any of the agents, but he had a hard time seeing the chipper agent squaring off with the surly Alaska, who was no doubt faster and stronger than Florida. But then again, strength and speed weren't the only things that counted in a fight.

York chuckled at the memory. "Florida beat him. He's a little more old-fashioned, but a quick thinker on the battlefield."

"And what about Alaska? What's he like?" North inquired, curious about his fellow teammates.

"Alaska's a strange guy. He doesn't talk to other people much, but he talks to himself often enough. I wouldn't ask him about it though, if I were you. Had this whole rival thing going on with Penn. Now Penn," York continued, telling North about the Freelancers he had come to know in his time here, "back when we first arrived, he was quite ruthless. He had some serious anger management issues, but he's calmed down a bit since then." Relief filled York's voice at that last statement.

North remembered Pennsylvania, number two on the leaderboard. That show-down between him and Maine was not one he would forget anytime soon. Thinking about the leaderboard reminded him of something he'd been wondering. "So what's the list there for? I get that it's supposed to tell us who the top agent is, but there's all kinds of different specialities. How does it determine them?"

York sighed. "I honestly don't know. The leaderboard is supposedly there to let you know where you're at, and encourage you to get better, but from what I see, all it does is stir up competition. And competition..." he trailed off.

"Leads to grudges on the battlefield." North finished for him, understanding.

"Yeah," York said. "But hey, maybe it won't be so bad. Things seem to be going ok so far."

A round of cheering interrupted the conversation as Majestic scored in Grifball, and North took a drink of his beer. They were still watching a game, after all.

"What about Carolina? She's on the top of the leaderboard, isn't she?" North said. After watching that two-on-one training round, he didn't have a hard time seeing why.

York went oddly quiet for a second before telling North about her. "She's very devoted, and likes to take charge. It doesn't take much to make her mad though."

North studied the other man's features as York spoke, and could see the small tell-tale signs that York had feelings toward the teal freelancer. He didn't say anything aloud, however. It wasn't his place.

It was York's turn to ask questions. "What about you? You were pretty amazing in the training room with South. She's your sister, right?"

"Yeah. We're twins," North said.

York laughed. "That would explain how well you two worked together. What's she like? She seemed very...aggressive. No..." he seemed at a loss for words, not wanting to say anything negative.

"Intense?" North offered, understanding the reaction toward his twin.

"Yeah, that's it."

"She tends to leave a strong impression on people."

York hesitated. "You mean...mentally, or physically?"

North couldn't help but laugh. "I get what you mean. I can't really blame her for the way she acts, but I try my best to calm her down."

"So you like to look out for her?" York asked.

"Yeah. I have since we were kids," North said.

They turned back to their drinks and the game, laughing as it played out. It was...it was nice. Even though there was a galactic war raging around them, even though they were on a giant spaceship in the middle of space that belonged to a secret military branch, even with their troubled pasts, it was nice that two guys could still share a drink and watch sports.


	47. Chapter 46: The Quiet One

**(A/N) Hey all, time for our new update! This update is another from our new recruits, from the POV of Agent Minnesota, written by the incredible XxXshadowkitsuXxX. Next chapter will complete the set, and the one after that will start the next story arc. We have some big things in store for you all, so make sure to stay updated. Shit is about to get real.**

**Enjoy!**

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**Chapter Forty-Six – The Quiet One**

**Agent Minnesota**

**Written by XxXshadowkitsuXxX**

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"_Laughter is not at all a bad beginning for a friendship."_ - Oscar Wilde

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I roamed the hallways blindly, not really caring where I was going. It wasn't that I didn't know where I was going, which I didn't, but the fact that I felt I needed some time to myself. Where I came from, everyone was weaker than me. No matter the challenge, I would end up top dog and prove my worth to those that looked down on me. I'd just arrived a couple of hours ago to the ship, this _Mother of Invention_ as it was called, and already my mind couldn't wrap itself around what was going on here. This place was bringing in the best of anything and everything the UNSC offered, and I felt like a nobody despite all my skills and talents. It seemed like that there someone else who was already better at what I could do.

I thought I was tough until I'd seen the duel between the behemoths known as Pennsylvania and Maine.

My journey continued in the search for the elusive Training Room. I would've asked one of the many personnel strolling about for directions, but I didn't feel like dealing with them at the moment. Other people tend to just get in the way. The doubles match had definitely proven that. I had been paired with Michigan of all people. I admit she was quick on her feet, though it didn't seem to matter when Arkansas showed up, which left me to deal with the others by myself. While I'm not much of a team player myself, I at least know when to work with someone to get the job done. It made me wonder how someone like her joined in the first place.

I entered the observation deck that overlooked the training room, at least I was getting closer. Much to my disappointment, Maine was already in there wailing on what looked to be the remains of a training dummy. My gaze drifted to the leaderboard above him plastered to the wall. I didn't know its true purpose, nor did I care. It would be of use to me when I clawed my way back to the top, letting everyone know just how useful I could be. The door behind me opened as someone made their way next to me.

"He just doesn't know when to quit does he?"

I glanced to find Agent York in my presence. "I think he's dedicated. Maine just wants to be at the top like everyone else."

"Yeah, the leaderboard will do that to people." he stared up at it, though I had a feeling it wasn't his name he was looking at.

"I'm gonna go down and wait for him to leave. I could use some exercise." I left him watching Maine ravage his toy.

"You want some company?" he asked, but I pretended not to hear him as the door slid shut behind me.

Somehow I managed to find my way down the locker room. Automatically, I threw on my armour as I relented to my thoughts once more. Maybe I should have let York come with me. I didn't trust anyone here, but he seemed decent enough to at least help me train. That's something I learned in UNSC. If you can't trust your partner to help you, they may as well be the enemy. I'd lost count on how many times my squad members would abandon me because things looked hopeless. Legions of enemies, low supplies, reinforcements taking their sweet time, it didn't bother me. I was given an order and I would see it through to the end.

I had been so lost in thought that I had failed to notice I wasn't alone anymore. Maine was rummaging in his locker as I sat there like an idiot. Placing my helmet on my head I went on my way to the training floor.

"Hello Agent Minnesota, what exercise will you be partaking in today?" F.I.L.S.S. asked in her usual cheery tone.

A weapons dispenser rose from the floor, a buffet of rifles and the like just for me. My eyes roamed the guns before settling on the large sniper rifle nestled on top. Of course, I was an expert marksman, but I always felt better letting my enemy know who killed them. That's why I preferred close range weaponry. My finger slid down the barrel as I examined the cold metal, it had been awhile since I had last used the firearm. The battle between Maine and Penn flashed through my mind, finalizing my decision.

"Put these away F.I.L.S.S., I want a hand-to-hand simulation."

"No problem." the dispenser descended back into the floor. Several greet targets began whirling around my body, "Round beginning."

I stared dumbstruck at the lights buzzing around me. This was supposed to be a training exercise? Reluctantly, I struck all the targets until they turned red. After a few more rounds, some lights spun faster while others slower. It turned out pretty good though it still felt lacking in skill. All I was doing was punching and kicking.

"Are you just going to do that all day? At least make it more interesting or something."

I turned to the source of the complaint. Propped against the wall was a soldier in white and red armour. I rolled my eyes as the Freelancer made his way over, helmet tucked under his arm.

"I don't recall saying I needed your opinion California. I was doing fine." I said.

"Fair enough," Cal stopped a few feet away, "But wouldn't you like to actually get better at it? I don't think we'll be fighting anything close to that out in the field." he pointed at the green lights that continued to dance around me.

"F.I.L.S.S, turn off the simulation." Cal spoke as he equipped his last armour piece on his head. The lights flickered into nothing.

"Punch me."

I stared confused, "You're ridiculous. F.I.L.S.S, turn it back on."

"Don't F.I.L.S.S. Come on, just hit me."

I could feel the smirk radiating under Cal's visor. This guy was getting on my nerves and I needed to get back to training. Only one way to get rid of him quickly, and I was more than will to oblige. My fist struck hard against the opposing Freelancer, causing him to stagger a little.

California rubbed the spot on his helmet, "Is that it? I bet the Director hits harder than that. Try it again." he tapped his cheek for emphasis.

A growled of frustration escaped me as I whipped around, stabbing my foot into the other soldier's stomach. Cal let out an "oomph" noise as he almost fell back.

"A little better, it tickled." he chuckled, "Come on, one more try. Hit me."

By this point, I was getting pissed. Pulling my arm back, my fist rocketed forward as hard as I could. Cal grabbed my wrist and twisted until my own arm was pinned painfully against my spine. With a swift kick to the back of one of my knees, I fell only to be caught by an arm wrapping around my windpipe.

"Now give me your lunch money." the agent laughed as he released me.

I turned and faced my roommate, delivering a roundhouse kick to his head. California was still laughing as he lay on the floor for a moment, "I know it was a bad joke, but you don't have to throw things at me."

"Leave me alone. I'm done with your 'training'. Go find someone else to bother."

"I was just having fun." Cal said, "If you lightened up a little you would be-"

"I don't do fun." I cut him off, "Fun doesn't take down the enemy. Fun doesn't protect your team. Fun doesn't complete the mission. Now go away or I'll-"

"Or what?" the other Freelancer asked, "You'll throw another hissy fit? You don't get it. I know you have to be serious and stuff out there. But when you're not fighting you need to relax or you'll explode. Look, I don't know what happened with you, but don't let it slow you down. If it's too much let me know, that's what friends are for."

"I don't need friends. I can do just fine on my own." I said as I made my way to the exit.

"Nobody needs friends, but everyone wants one. Don't you? I know I did."

His words froze me in place, "What do you mean?"

"You didn't answer my question." the Freelancer responded, ignoring my own.

I remained still. Something weighed down on my shoulder. It was Cal's hand. Every part of me wanted to say no, and yes. My head began to hurt as I battled for control of my thoughts and emotions.

"I-I don't know." I finally replied.

"Well you do anyway, so tough luck because I'm hard to get rid of."

"That's the truth." I chuckled.

"I knew I could get you to laugh, it's a start at least." Cal laughed with me.

I smiled under my helmet, shaking my head, "Are you always like this?"

"Only on Tuesdays and Thursdays."

"It's Monday." I pointed out.

"I'll have to fix my schedule then." Cal joked.

It was a start. Maybe a friend wouldn't hurt.


	48. Chapter 47: Call to Arms

**(A/N) Hey everyone, sorry about the late update. Internet went out last night for some reason, but got it back working today. This is the last of the chapters of this arc, which also occurs simultaneously with the previous few. Written by the last (but by no means the least) of our new writers, TunelessLyric, who will be writing for Agent Michigan, the freelancers new heavy weapons expert. **

**Assume you've all caught the Yellow RWBY trailer at this stage. Next stop, RvB Season 11! Who's exited?!**

**As before, we're still looking for writers for our X-Ray and Vav fic, and I am proud to announce that the first chapter of our Grifball fic will go up on the 14th of this month, to coincide with the release of the first episode of RvB Season 11. So it's going to be a big day for us!**

**Enjoy!**

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**Chapter Forty-Seven – Call to Arms**

**Agent Michigan **

**Written by TunelessLyric**

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_"The beginning is always today." - _Mary Wollstonecraft

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Michigan stood well back when the others pressed themselves up against the floor-to-ceiling window. She curled her lip at their childishness. Or maybe the disgust wasn't directed at them. Mich stepped away from the doorway and sighed.

She still had a hard time looking out the glass of a ship, afraid of what terrifying images she might glimpse. What quiet, peace-loving rock might be glassed to hell.

She spun on her heel and silently left her fellow Freelancers staring wide-eyed at the dark abyss. Well, most of the new ones anyway. Minnesota, the white and grey one, had already left the group, preferring to wander on his own. Mich didn't blame him, the way they were acting like a bunch of school children on some field trip, not the UNSC's best.

Mich stomped silently through the titanium halls. She lost herself quickly in the labyrinth, barely caring where she was or where she was going. It swiftly became apparent that Mich had left anything familiar behind. She started to pay more attention to her surroundings, trying to orient herself. The sound of raised voices nearly made her wheel around and leave, but she told herself to be reasonable and ask for help.

Grudgingly, Mich headed for the speaking people. She hated that she had to ask for assistance. Well, maybe next time she'll think about that before storming off after losing her head.

"I'm just saying that you shouldn't underestimate them," a woman said evenly.

"Massa, why you even bother is beyond me," sniffed another female.

"Oh, come off it. You saw them today, Penn barely managed to hold off that Maine guy."

"Right. Since Penn is such a strategist," scoffed the more annoyed one.

Mich peeked around the corner, taking a breath to soothe her temper at the second woman's brushing off the new agents. "Uh, hi?"

A dark green and red shape turned. "Oh, boy. Now I'm out of here." She walked away, chin up.

"Yeah, don't worry about Virginia, she'll come around." The remaining Freelancer was clad in very light green and brown. "Massa." She stuck her hand out.

"Mich," the pale purple and cobalt agent murmured, staring blankly at the hand. "And I was wondering… if, maybe, uh…"

Massa retracted her hand uncomfortably and leaned forward a little. "Yes…?"

Mich took another steadying breath. "Can you help me back to the mess hall?" She glared down at the floor after having humiliated herself. At least she hadn't openly admitted to being lost. It never was in her nature to accept loss of face. Why couldn't she pay attention?

"Sure, it's just this way," Massa set off, seemingly at random. "If you remember that every so far there is an elevator, you can just find it by walking in a straight line. Once you get to one, hop in. The mess hall is on the sixth level."

Michigan tried to keep up with Massa's chatter. She did her best to remember all of the information. Mich thought, having been an ODST previously, living on the _Mother of Invention_ would have been much simpler. What she didn't bargain for, however, was the aforementioned ship being three times the size of the one Mich had been stationed on.

Finally, Mich saw the elevator. She stepped in and offered a halting thanks.

"Oh, no worries," shrugged Massa. "Oh no! I'm going to be la – " Leaving the sentence hanging, she ran off before the elevator doors hissed shut.

Mich rolled her eyes and stabbed the 6 button. Thankfully there was no tacky Muzak arrangement playing in the confines of the elevator. At the fourth floor, the machine smoothly halted. An aggravating _bing_ announced the stop. Mich let her weight roll onto the back wall with resignation.

A large white and grey agent stepped in. Well, well, well, the anti-social Minnesota, crammed into a metal box with Michigan.

"Where are you getting off?" she asked, hoping he doesn't say the same floor she wanted.

"Level Six." And there it was, the wonder of Mich's luck. Of course he would be going there.

"Great," she sighed. "Just perfect."

The elevator slid up two floors, oblivious to the semi-tense atmosphere within. The doors opened and Mich sprung out ahead of Minnesota.

"Hey, um, you want to – I don't know – find the mess hall together?" he queried tentatively.

Mich opened her mouth angrily, only to shut it again when she realized how hard it was for him to ask. "Fine. This way?"

Minnesota gazed thoughtfully the way she pointed. A long moment later, he nodded. "Maybe."

He headed off, leading at a brisk pace. Mich kept up easily. They moved in silence for a while.

"Do you have a nickname or something?" she blurted.

"Just call me Sota," he replied shortly.

Mich chewed her cheek for a heartbeat. Couldn't he see she was trying to make this less awkward? Couldn't he _help_? "What did you think of Maine almost beating that brute, Pennsylvania?"

"Whatever. Just as long as the first ones know we're not little kids."

Mich remembered the argument between Massa and Virginia. She didn't want to tell him about the sceptical woman. She let the attempt to make a decent conversation quietly die in the bland halls. When they reached a fork in the corridor, he turned to her.

"Well?" he demanded.

"Your guess is as good as mine," she replied a little defensively.

"You must have some idea," he murmured. "You got us lost in the first place."

"A wonder then, that you even asked." Mich fought to keep her temper in check. "It seemed like you didn't actually want my opinion."

"It can _seem_ however you want it to," he responded curtly, all traces of awkwardness or shyness erased. "I don't really care." He abruptly spun and took the left hall.

Mich set her jaw. "If you don't want my help," she stopped walking and muttered darkly to herself, "why did you ask me to come along?"

She wondered how he could have gotten under her skin so effortlessly, after such a short amount of time. Mich worked her jaw side to side and wondered if she should leave him alone. If he wanted to be bull-headed and rude, so be it. When she joined, Mich swore she would protect the other Freelancers, never did she promise to like them all. With a sigh she decided that had been partly her fault and it reflected badly to get into a fight the so early on.

Mich chased after Sota. He hadn't gotten far by the time she caught up. She slowed to match his pace again.

He didn't glance at her, despite Mich's sudden reappearance and change of heart.

"Look, what I said wasn't fair." She didn't make eye contact with him either. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry I was rude," he apologized with a sidelong look. They lapsed into silence again.

Mich decided her campaign to find the mess hall could wait. She went to explore - offering a small farewell that received only a nod - hoping to find the hangar bay now. As she went, Mich paid more attention to her surroundings, being certain to file the route away this time.

"Attention Agents Alaska, Carolina, Florida, Massachusetts, Pennsylvania, Virginia, Wyoming and York: please proceed to Briefing Room 003 immediately," a cheerful voice broke into Michigan's trudging.

A mission? That sounded exciting. Mich found herself wishing she could be going. No way did she want to be stuck on the same ship – practically alone – with Cal, Maine and the others.

"AI, can you tell me the fastest way to the hangar bay?" Mich asked, half expecting to be denied.

"You may call me F.I.L.S.S., Agent Michigan," replied the shipboard Intelligence brightly. "To find the Main Hangar Bay, please – " she listed off the long route.

Mich repeated the directions to the AI. "Left, right, left, right, Hall A, Hall F, Hall C, Hall B?"

"That is correct. Good luck!"

Mich, wondering why in the world anyone would label halls that way, wandered off for her destination. She murmured directions to herself as she walked. When she arrived at a tiny closet of a bathroom, Mich was fuming. "F.I.L.S.S., what the hell? Why am I here?"

"I am sorry," apologised the A.I. "I was rewired not to give you those coordinates by the Director. He wanted you, for some reason unknown to me at the moment, to arrive here."

"What? Why?"

Mich heard footsteps and laughter. She gazed over her shoulder. Eight armoured and armed Freelancers were marching down the hall, the teal of Carolina at their head. York followed closely behind her, talking to Florida amicably. Massa and Virginia appeared to have gotten over their slight spat and walked in sync with one another.

When they have passed by completely - Alaska muttering to himself - Mich stepped out into the centre of the hall. While she watched them go down the straightaway, a hint of longing tugged at her heart. She wished she could be walking in step with her team. Not at the lead, that was for sure, never leading. But in the tidy column, chatting to a friend, perhaps, she would be there.

Michigan set her shoulders square and lifted her chin. She followed them at a distance. She wondered absently if that was why the Director had F.I.L.S.S. give out a false route, to show the new arrivals exactly what they had to compete with.

Well, if that was what he wanted, that was what Michigan would ensure he would get.

She watched the eight agents trot up into the troop bay of a Pelican in the hangar – after engraving the real path into her mind – with mixed awe and jealousy.

'_One day,'_ she promised herself, '_one day, that will be us.'_


	49. Chapter 48: Hidden Demons

**(A/N) Ok, this is going up a bit late again, as FF decided last night that, no, it would not let me into my profile to upload this chapter. But anyway, it's time for our latest chapter, and it's another from the POV of Agent California, only this chapter presents a very different side to Cal than we have seen before. Written, once again, by the fabulous BrambleStar14, I think you're all going to enjoy this one. At the very least, it's going to shock you.**

**Enjoy!**

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**Chapter Forty-Eight – Hidden Demons**

**Agent California**

**Written by BrambleStar14**

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_"Insanity is often the logic of an accurate mind overtasked." _- Oliver Wendell Holmes

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California half ran, half stomped through the corridors of the Mother of Invention, his armour giving his footfalls a metallic clanging sound to them that reverberated through the corridors ahead, clearly telling everyone to stay out of his way and keep their noses out of his business, unless they wanted said noses removed from their faces.

Cal's every step shook with fury and his entire body tensed, taught with the rage that flooded through his very blood. He ripped the helmet that was currently concealing his face off of his head and examined it, still walking. He hesitated, before throwing it as hard as he could down the corridor, watching with dark satisfaction as it stuck in the opposite wall, leaving a deep dent. He continued past it, not even caring.

He knew that he must look like a psycho, demented to the crew members of the ship. His eyes were wide and mad and every muscle in his face screamed his pure hate for all to see. He hadn't felt this mad for a long time, but now the familiar feelings were returning to him, giving him a dangerous, slightly insane edge. He knew that the others would be concerned, would be debating what had caused him to storm away from them after Wyoming let slip the nature of their mission. Let them talk, he grinned darkly as he turned another hairpin bend.

"_The Innies have made a death threat against some UNSC General, old chap. Then the local traffic cams picked up an Innie lieutenant, Ian Harper, entering the city. Local forces couldn't catch him, and he disappeared into the city, so the Director's sending us in for some bodyguard work. Everything ok there, Cal? Cal?"_

Harper. Ian Harper. The Insurrectionist Lieutenant. One of the most wanted men in the whole damned UNSC. He knew precisely what the Director was doing here. He knew exactly what it would cost Cal not to go on the mission. Cal couldn't believe it. This was his chance. He had thought that part of the whole reason he was considered for Freelancer, aside from his, ah, _lack of job at that time_, was his extensive background regarding this branch of the Insurrection, the United Revolutionary Front. He was requested due to his past with both the splinter group and in particular, with Ian Harper.

He would accept any mission as long as his and Ian's paths crossed again. And now, his chance had come, and the damned Director was throwing it all away! For the sake of what!? His _top agents_were going! Those original agents, who hadn't encountered Harper before! They didn't bloody know what he was capable of! They didn't know what he could do! He was about as predictable as a snake, right before it struck, not to mention the fact that he was partially insane! He wouldn't care who he killed!

Cal winced as memories flooded his head, long repressed memories, memories he wouldn't share with anyone. His past was partially the reason he was considered for freelancer and now he wasn't getting his chance at, at what? He paused and considered. He hesitated, before allowing the memories to flood through his head once more, for the first time since he had originally experienced them.

He saw again the burning truck, the soldiers hauling them from the van. He saw Mark-

_Don't think the name!_

He remembered every moment shared with Ian, every single thing he taught him, every single second Ian had spent with him, and he snarled.

He remembered the gun flashing. He remembered the agony he had experienced. He remembered Mark-

_Don't think the name!_

He remembered the explosion and the pain and the blood. He remembered the fear as he was chased, yet again. How could he forget? He remembered it unwillingly in his dreams often enough.

He remembered the pain in his chest, the exit trail of the bullet. He remembered the psychotic grin, the petrol and the fire. He especially remembered the grin. The madness dancing in the eyes. It was the same madness he sometimes saw in himself, dancing on the verge of his mind, threatening to take over. Like it just had. He had lost it.

The fire licked his skin once more as he screamed in his head over and over, as part of his mind had never stopped screaming since it had happened. Subconsciously, his hand reached up and touched the burn scar running along the edge of his face as he was overwhelmed with memories again. He remembered the deaths, the screaming of men as they were gunned down in his earpiece.

He remembered _everything._

He turned and walked into the combat arena. He needed to fight something. He needed to kill something really, really, really badly. The others may think they knew him. They didn't. They only knew part of him, the part that was mostly around. But now, he had let his other half out and he wasn't sure he would control it. He wasn't sure he wanted to.

He picked up the machetes that lay ahead on the bench, gleaming wickedly. Cal reached down, picked them up and turned to the arena. He surveyed the dummies that lay along the side of the room. Not good enough. He needed something that could fight back. He barely registered the words behind him.

"You alright mate? You look like you're missing something," it was the British one, Wyoming. The idiot who was going to be sent on this mission, while Cal remained behind. An original, a voice snarled in his head. He looked down and saw Wyoming held Cal's slightly dented helmet in his hands. Cal snatched it back, holding loosely at his side.

"Thanks," he grunted, before turning to the arena. Wyoming was apparently unfazed by his anger.

"You sure you're alright? You look like you need to talk to someone or you'll kill something!" His voice was slightly nervous as Cal turned to him.

"Killing something is the general idea by this point," Cal snarled, before clapping, slow and sarcastic, reached his ears.

"Brilliant stuff there California, absolutely top notch!" The clapping continued, slow and mocking, grinding against Cal's eardrums. Struggling to control his rage, he slowly turned to face the person who had decided that they could try and push him around.

Arkansas stood there, a sneer on his face as he regarded Cal. He steeped forwards, his face suddenly furious.

"What do you think you're playing at, eh? Storming out of rooms, stomping around the corridors like an idiot, acting demented! You're crazy. You always have been! It just took this to prove it. You've clearly got some grudge against the Insurrection and against Harper, but there is _no goddamn reason_ why you should act like this. Harper won't get taken down by you anyway now, what the hell is the big dea- UGH!" His next words were cut off as Cal violently slammed into him, knocking him head over heels until he found himself pinned to the wall with an arm constricting his windpipe. Before he could respond, he saw Cal's insane face inches from his, contorted, inhuman.

"What is the big deal, huh?" Cal practically hissed, causing Arkansas's breathing to just become that little bit more laboured, giving away his fear. "The big deal is every single fucking thing that's ever happened to me as a result of him! As a result of them all! They made me who I am today and to be honest, I really fucking wish they hadn't! You have no right to judge me! None of you do! Not until you've suffered, like I have suffered." With that, he threw Arkansas from him bodily, hurling him into one of the pillars that was still activated from the last training match.

"So, if you think it's no big deal," Cal spoke loudly, unaware of Wyoming slowly backing out of the room to find the others. "Come on then! I could use a good laugh!" Arkansas grunted as he lifted himself from the floor, wincing slightly.

"I thought you'd never ask," he replied eventually. He walked over to the weapons bench, picking up a long combat knife and a shotgun. "I've been hoping to take you down a peg or two. It's about damn time someone did."

Cal slid the machetes onto his back as he slowly picked up his SMG's, checking the barrel before loading some ammo left out on the table._ 'It was quite strange really,'_ said a small part of his brain, _'that ammo was conveniently left out on the table.'_ He loaded the clip with a _snap!_and flicked the small switch on the side to single-fire mode and walked outwards, facing across the floor, to Ark, who placed his helmet on his head without any emotion.

Cal grinned, before slowly placing his helmet over his head, the HUD activating instantly. He waited for Ark to make his move, his hands hovering over the SMG's on his belt.

_Any second now._

Ark dived and so did Cal, both of them rolled behind the cover of the pillars that were still online here and there. Cal slowly peered around the corner, hoping to catch sight of Ark. As long as he could kick his ass first, he didn't care about going down. He was completely lost in the anger he was experiencing.

He slowly moved to the next pillar, only partially noticing the gathering audience his and Ark's impromptu fight had called forth from the various depths of the ship. As he moved, he thought he saw Ark's head poke out, but by the time his gun was raised, he saw nothing. Ark had vanished without trace.

As he stepped out of cover, he saw Ark running to another piece of cover in an attempt to sneak closer to Cal. He didn't hesitate. The SMG fired, causing the pillar Ark was running towards to explode slightly as the sound of a gunshot reverberated through the entire room. The scene froze. Ark froze where he stood and slowly turned to Cal, before staring down at his own weapon. The watching crowd cried out and one or two looked like they were going to step forwards, but were restrained by their colleagues. Cal slowly turned his face towards his own smoking weapon.

Live rounds.

The Director had left them live magazines.

Cal didn't hesitate. He was too far gone into his rage to care, raising his weapon and loosing off several more shots, causing Ark to curse as the bullets flew around him. He clearly realised that cover was no longer an option, as he turned and sprinted towards Cal, raising his shotgun. Cal dropped to the floor as the shotgun discharged right where he had been standing. He fell forwards and rolled up, grabbing the shotgun and wrenching it to the side as Ark let go of it and swung for a punch.

Cal let him connect and used the momentum from the hit to roll backwards, firing several more shots as Ark dived again, grabbing his shotgun and attempting to blow Cal's head off. The two men were showing no restraint. Each of them was aiming to kill. Cal was losing himself. He was stuck in memories as Harper taught him another trick.

"See mate, the trick is," he told Cal, brandishing the handgun, "you gotta shoot 'em in the gut. The shock makes them drop the gun. You gotta make 'em drop the gun. So you can kill them." He held the handgun towards Cal, gesturing at the prisoner chained to the opposite wall. Cal very slowly took the gun and watched as Harper threw a gun to the captive. The captive quickly turned the gun towards Cal, apparently desperate to escape. He didn't hesitate. The gun fired and the prisoner fell.

"And when he's down, ya finish him!" Ian said excitedly, gesturing at the moaning man. Cal aimed the gun and, wincing slightly, fired.

The memory stirred another burst of rage within Cal, and he fired the gun again and again, until a stray bullet caught Ark in the gut, making him drop the shotgun with a cry of pain. Next moment, he had tackled Cal to the floor, riding the pain as he hammered his fists on Cal's visor. With a crack, the faceplate protecting Cal's face cracked, deactivating the HUD as he gasped. Ark, sensing victory, pulled his knife from its holster and made ready to stab down. Cal took no chances and grabbed his machete hilt, swinging it over his head and smashing it into Ark's face, knocking his helmet flying and momentarily blinding him. Cal's kick caught him in the gut and sent him sprawling.

Cal slowly stood up, before he removed the useless helmet and spat blood from the corner of his mouth, watching as Ark also stood up and gestured with the knife. There was a moment of calm, before they both charged. Cal ducked Ark's swing and caught him in the stomach with a solid punch. Ark stumbled, but recovered his footing, swinging a roundhouse kick that Cal barely dodged before following up with a forward thrust with the knife. Cal dived to the side, lashing out with the machete, but failed to land a solid hit, only managing to scrape the edge of Ark's chestplate.

He was the better hand-to-hand specialist and Ark knew it. He knew he was out of his depth. Cal slowly, teasingly pulled out his other machete and sprinted at Ark, knocking his blade aside with one blade and moving to stab with the other. Ark rolled to the side and kicked Cal's right hand, knocking the blade from his hand. Cal's left hand swung around in retaliation and connected with Ark's knife as the two struggled for dominance, sparks flying from the connecting blades.

"You're over the top Cal!" Ark shouted over the screeching of metal. "You're too emotional. You need to calm down, you wear your heart on your sleeve!" Cal simply kicked out, connecting with Ark's unprotected side and Ark fell back with a grunt, before Cal was on him again.

"And you're out of your bloody depth!" Cal spat, slashing again and again as Ark struggled to parry his blows. "You can't keep up! Probably shouldn't have challenged a hand-to-hand specialist in hand-to-hand combat!" He was using everything Ian taught him now, trying to trip Ark up.

Ark swung a little too much on his next swing of the blade, aimed at Cal's eyes this time, and Cal stepped under the swing, stepping inside Ark's defences and jabbing hard into his bullet wound. Ark gasped, trying to remove Cal. Cal took a punch to the face, spinning away, before turning with a series of stabs and jabs that left Ark reeling, before punching him in the face. Ark grunted and his defences lowered. Cal stepped forwards and punched him again, winding him as he dropped the machete with his left hand, grabbing onto Ark's hand with it instead. His left hand, the one pulling back from the punches, grabbed the falling machete, swinging it around and onto Ark's knife, ripping it from his fingers and across the floor. Instantly, Ark's hands were on the machete as they struggled for control.

Ark was pushing Cal backwards, bending the knife back. Cal could see it approaching. He fell backwards and could feel it slash along his face as he fell to the side to avoid having an eye removed. As Ark overbalanced, Cal sprung upwards, smashing a knee into Ark's solar plexus. Ark fell to his knees as Cal kicked him, hard, in the face. He rolled backwards, apparently completely drained.

Cal didn't trust him. He walked forwards, picked Ark up and threw him into the nearest pillar, before lifting him again and slamming him repeatedly against the unforgiving stone. Ark's face was a mess; he had what looked to be a black eye forming as well as the multiple bruises and cuts that Cal had inflicted. Not that Cal was much better. He could feel the blood dripping down the left side of his face.

He however, didn't have a gunshot wound. He supposed that was what had drained Ark in the end. He smashed Ark in the nose with the hilt of his blade, getting his attention.

"Taken down a peg, Ark?" Cal jeered quietly, as Ark groaned at the force being placed on his wound. "Not really your smartest move." He raised the machete. The rage filled him now. Damn Harper. Damn the Director. And damn Arkansas.

"When they're down," Ian's maniacal voice was filling his head again. "You make sure they don't get back up. Taking prisoners is a rarity. Try to leave more dead, than alive."

The machete was swinging forwards when someone, he thought it was Michigan, but it could have been several others as well, yelled.

"Cal! No!" The blade hesitated, before flying forwards. Ark closed his eyes as the blade impacted.

Three inches from his head.

He opened his eyes to see Cal with his eyes closed, body practically shaking with rage.

"Cal?" he tried weakly. Cal opened his eyes and Ark saw the depths of his rage and madness.

Cal raised his fist and punched Arkansas as hard as he could on the nose, breaking it. Ark collapsed as Cal released him, throwing the machete to the floor as he turned and walked to the door. He paused as it was blocked by Carolina. He turned to her. She looked him over, before raising her eyebrows and nodding slightly, stepping to the side.

He didn't try to think about what that nod meant and had no intention on thinking about it. He walked away, to the corridor housing his room. He walked inside, leaving the door open behind him. He sat down on the bed, his back to the door and leaned his head against the wall, feeling the emotions overcome him.

He had lost it again. He had nearly given in to the madness. And now everyone had seen it. They had seen him nearly kill Ark.

His body shook as tears formed in his eyes. He closed his eyes in an effort to clear them, the blood still dripping from his face, staining his white armour.

A hand closed around his shoulder and he turned to see Mich there. That in itself was surprising. She looked both determined and slightly fearful. She took in his appearance and stood up.

"Come on," she said as she pulled him to his feet. "Killian. You need a medic." And Cal allowed himself to be dragged away, temporarily putting his madness behind him once more.


	50. Chapter 49: Guard Duty

**(A/N) Hey guys, another fantastic update for you, from the incredible mind of OhSoDeadly, Florida's writer, and, I think you'll all agree, there isn't a better Florida writer out there. :) Also, if you include the prologue, this is our fiftieth chapter! Well, prologue's aside, it's our fiftieth update at least, which is pretty monumental. Forgive us for taking this moment to pat ourselves on our collective back, but we're smug bastards, and we've earned it.**

**Some big announcements will be made on Saturday, after the launch of RvB Season 11, which I assume you're all just as stoked for as I am. Keep on eye out on the Friday too, we have something special planned for all you readers out there, something big. Something...new.**

**Anyway, vague announcements aside, let's start this thing! Enjoy!**

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**Chapter Forty-Nine – Guard Duty**

**Agent Florida**

**Written by OhSoDeadly**

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"_I told you how to fight but I never told you why to fight."_

"_I fight for you." _

"_Yes, but who will you fight for when I'm gone? Soldiers fight for kings they've never even met. They fight when they're told to fight, they die when they're told to die."_

"_Soldiers obey."_

– Achilles and Patroclus, _Troy_

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For the thirtieth time in that hour alone, Florida checked his radio. UNSC E-band, true blue and clear as a bell. There was no interference from enemy jammers or solar flares, no scratchy static of any kind. No-one else was on this channel, except for when the other teams would periodically call in to make reports. And things were duller than ditchwater! Clear skies, no suspicious activity. Things were about as laid-back as they'd ever been, by gum!

Then why did he feel this niggling feeling of dread, creepin' up his spine like a cockroach up a shower drain? Heck, he'd started going to scratch his back to rid himself of the feeling, only for his gauntlet to clank against metal. Darned armour. Sometimes he felt like he was drowning in it. He wondered if for the next op, they could lose the armour, just for a little while. A bit of fresh air and Vitamin D on a mission could do 'em the world of good! _A man can get a world of good from fresh air,_pa had often boasted, _but only if he's out in the world._

Then he considered the chances of a sniper bullet, or a landmine, or dozens of other nasties for that matter, and sighed. They'd have a better chance of gettin' sense out of Al in his sleep. Lately he'd been more chatty than ever, holding conversations with this Moi lady. A girl from back home? Maybe, but Al didn't seem the type to have a girl…his mother, then. That made much more sense. Speakin' of which, he missed his mother. He left himself a mental note to have some fresh flowers delivered to the family plot back on Mars. _Flowers for Flowers…ha ha._ Try as he might, he couldn't shake off the worried, pursed-lips he was currently sportin'.

Didn't help that he was worryin' about how the new kids were getting on with their sim mission. After California's outburst and the fight between him and Arkansas, he couldn't help but worry that someone was goin' to pull a Penn and wind up with a bullet or two in their chests.

And they mightn't just walk it off like he did.

He needed another distraction, so he made another routine check. "All teams, report in please." Technically they weren't supposed to report in all at the once except for regular hourly intervals, but he was itchin' for something to do. Plus, the others were just plain bored, so they'd probably welcome it as well.

**"Front door is solid. Press and other guests starting to arrive. Most of them arriving in vans and buses. Nothing special." **That was Carolina.

**"Nothing special is right,"**came the voice of York, **"The average attractiveness of female reporters on Arcite has seriously taken a turn for the-ouch!" **Sounded like Carolina had whomped him a good one. Florida chuckled a bit, and continued. "Roof team?"

A vicious grunt, like a big ol' grizzly bear that had just been disturbed from chowin' down on salmon. That had to be Penn. **"****Everything's fine up here. It was fine an hour ago, and it's still fine, and it's still gonna be fucking fine in another hour. Alright?"**

**"Don't mind him, he just doesn't appreciate a good view. Adding that to the already-monumental list of things he doesn't appreciate."**

Alaska.

**"I swear to God if you don't shut the fuck up I'm going to cram this rifle into your-"**

Florida decided to mute them at this point-just for the time being, of course. He checked the final team, just wanderin' around the building on patrol. "Ladies?"

Massa's nasally voice came through. **"****We are just fine, Florida. Everybody's where they're supposed to be, and they all get out of our way nice and quick. This building must've cost a fortune. My tax dollars probably paid for that doorknob over there." **In the background, he heard Virginia stifle a laugh. **"How are the rooftop boys travelling?"**

He unmuted them for a moment-

**"-and then you'll be wishing I'd thrown you off the goddamned edge-"**

"You know Penn and Al, always jousting," he remarked wryly. Massa laughed. **"****I think the Innies will be too scared of the noise to come round this place. Anyways, Massa and her sidekick out." **A burp of static, then back to being quiet.

He sighed, dragging the noise out. Normally he wouldn't do that on account that it was disturbin' to some other folks, but a quick peep around would show anyone that he was totally alone in the cavernous room.

"Everything peachy, old chum?"

Except for Wyoming, that was! He was super glad the director had been nice enough to put the two of 'em together. Usually Wyoming riled other folks up, but he was quite alright around him. Florida turned to face him as the white-armoured agent made his way down one of the aisles between the audience seating. "Seems to be. All the other teams say there's nothing buggy goin' on outside." He went to one of the windows, stared out at the hustle'n'bustle of New Thrace, and sighed again, a plaintive noise that he couldn't help. 'Still…"

Wyoming came to stand alongside him, brow furrowed. He'd left his helmet lying on the stage podium. "I know what you mean, Florida. We've sent those Insurrectionists running with their tails 'twixt their legs, but they're a crafty bunch and no mistake. Did you see the city statistics for bombings per annum?"

Florida shook his head, his disquiet growing. He bet the number wouldn't be small. "A whole lot, I'm guessin'?"

"Too damned many. And that's only the tip of this iceberg. The Insurrectionists on this planet have been some of the worst, old chap. Part of me is hoping this speech falls on a load of deaf ears." He cracked his knuckles with satisfaction. "It'll mean a rather nice and speedy resolution to our little pickle here. And yours truly will be able to wet his feet properly, so to speak."

Now _that_sounded none too good. "Open warfare?" he gasped. "Who in tarnation would order that on a whole planet? Think of all the innocents!"

_More dead women and children,_a voice in his head muttered venomously. _And Wyoming would love nothing better than total anarchy. You can't deny it. He's as much told you._

He was glad of the helmet he was wearing, else Wyoming would've seen the distorted expression on his face. He quickly hid it, but already his heart race was increasing. His nightmares had been getting worse as well, ever since that first mission to rescue Carolina and co. He would have to go ask Killian for some pills. He couldn't continue like this. Not in a combat zone, and definitely not on the-

"I say, Florida, did you hear what I said?"

Once again, he reached in deep and plucked himself from his pool of worries and fears. _Poetic, Butch._"Sorry, pal," he muttered, "Come again?"

Wyoming planted his hands on his hips and shrugged. "I said, it would be unfortunate, but it's been a long time since this little war of ours was fair. By Jove, you've seen what the blighters can do. The sooner we can have free reign, the sooner we can focus on those aliens and carry the day for humanity, no?" He walked away to get his sniper rifle, propped up against the wall.

Florida felt something tug at him, made him follow his teammate. "It ain't as simple as all that," he argued, "You know how easy it is to lose control of things. If the UNSC went past imposing order all the way to firing on civilians, how easy would it be to lose all the things that make us what we are?"

Wyoming turned, and rolled his eyes. "Too much idealism, Florida. Even for you." Picking up his sniper rifle, he pulled the charging lever and donned his helmet. "I'm going to get to my position. Don't be thinking too hard about all this now, you might strain something." Uttering a light chuckle, he headed for a small black door concealed on the far side of the room. It would lead him to an upstairs room overlooking the conference room. Eyes in the sky, inside.

Still miffed about Wyoming's twisty view on things _and_that nasty jibe, Florida took to pacing. Despite the immediacy of the conference and by that, their mission, he couldn't help but wrangle with the problem in his head, picking away at it like a woodpecker on a redwood. Was it right or fair for the UNSC to hit back hard, to drop ground-pounders into cities and other civilian areas to hunt down the Innies? He just couldn't see it ending well, necessary or no.

He caught himself just before he sighed, and instead settled for a grumble. This was all beyond him. Why, back on Arcadia, they'd had a few problems with the UNSC, but nothing like this. They'd settled it like decent folk, talking 'stead of shooting, and compromise ensured that everyone went home to their family in one piece. _But I suppose Arcadia is a small town compared to this whole darned problem,_he thought glumly.

He got back on the radio, this time to Wyoming. "Reg old buddy, are you in position?"

Suddenly a red laser dot alighted on his chest. He yelped and dived for cover behind a chair-

-Wyoming started laughing over the radio. **"****Relax, old chap, it's only me! The answer's yes, by the by." **From a small window up high on the opposite wall, a white-armoured hand waved.

"Yeah, I got that," Florida muttered, standing up and dusting himself off. His sudden tumble had knocked one of the chairs from its spot, and he quickly moved it back into line with the others. _Clear house, clear mind,_dad had instructed. Wouldn't do to make a mess!

With a burst of static, Carolina's voice came through the radio, curt and…almost worried. Now the boss had a funny feeling? That was no good. **"****Heads up all teams, the general has arrived. I repeat, the general has arrived. Make ready."**

As the teams checked in, Florida felt his heart-rate increase, and his temperature rise. He swallowed, mouth suddenly dry. Gosh darn it, why was he so nervous? Things couldn't be simpler! The general would come on up, make his speech, then leave. Lickety-split, easy as winking!

He didn't expect this to make him feel better, and it didn't. Letting himself have one last sigh, he went to take his place onstage, about ten paces away from the podium. About five metres. Not far at all, if something bad was to-

_Enough._

**"****General is travelling…" **came Massa's voice as he walked up onto the stage, turned and surveyed the room. A pair of ornate double doors at the back, alternative exit doors to his right and left, both leading to stairwells that were well protected with sensors and MPs. An array of chairs before him, about one hundred, one-fifty. And of course, somewhere behind him, Wyoming was on watch. There would be security scans at the door to detect if anyone was carrying so much as a potato peeler, and the general had brought a security detail. The place was sealed tighter than a jar of nuts at a squirrel convention!

He felt sweat drip down the back of his neck, and he forced himself to slow down his breathing. _This is new. But it's not that new. We're here to protect the general. Protecting people ain't new. Right?_

_It might just be,_the voice from down deep snarked. _Protect? Like you protected your family, you mean?_

He was about to rip off his helmet, he couldn't breathe-

-when the double doors opened. Immediately, he stood at attention, hands at his sides, facing forward. A model soldier. He was a model soldier. Alright.

A team of six men, all wearing black body armour and sunglasses, swept into the room. They fanned out, checking under chairs, running their scanning wands over the walls, memorising exits. Eventually one of them spoke into a COM device attached to his lapel. "The room is secure. Bring them in." Four of the men went to form a rough perimeter around the stage, whereas another two went up on stage to stand near the podium, just like him. They both shot him glares before settling their eyes forward.

Why couldn't people just get along anymore? Then again, he reflected, that's why they were here at all. Because people couldn't.

Another group of men walked into the room. Many of them were bearing rifles, some in hands, others slung over backs. They wore face-concealing helmets in the style of the ODSTs, but most likely they were just some marines who had been hand-picked for this assignment. In their midst, impossible to miss, was General Petrarch. He was old, even older than him, and it showed. Bags were under his eyes and his temples were stormy grey, but his eyes were wide open and alert. _Good to see,_Florida thought approvingly.

Petrarch walked straight as an arrow, up onto the stage. Giving curt nods to his security detail, he let his eyes linger on Florida for a moment before facing forward. It was hard to get a read on him at that moment, but one thing was clear: the general was none too sure about having a freelancer to guard his back, no sir.

Finally, the press started making their way in. Once they'd passed the security scans-leading to many rolled eyes, scoffs and angry mutters-the clean-cut civilians filed down the aisles, sat in their chairs and awaited the start of the press conference. Most of them were in teams, with one person ready to listen, and another setting up a camera-drone of some kind. A few were already drifting into the air.

Worried, he clicked the COM. "Are we sure those little guys are safe? What if they had weapons?"

**"****Not possible. They would've triggered the scanners on their way in."**

"Hmm." He wasn't sure about that, but he fell silent.

As the general hubbub died down, Petrarch cleared his throat and spread his hands over the podium. "Members of the press, thank you for coming. This conference has been called in response to the atrocities committed by the United Revolutionary Front across multiple planets under the lawful rule of the UNSC, and what this means for all humanity in our war against the Covenant." Many of the press were using recorders, but a few scratched away on digi-pads, and camera-drones winked red as they filmed.

"General, sir!" A man wearing a suit and enough cologne that Florida could smell it through his suit's olfactory receptors jumped up, recording device held out in front of him. "How do you respond to reports that the URF has made official threats on your life?"

Florida winced. Nobody besides high-ranking military personnel (and the Freelancers, of course) was meant to know that. But Petrarch was a wily one. "I cannot confirm nor deny these reports," he stated tersely, "And they are immaterial to what I have to discuss."

Disappointed, the reporter sat back down. Seeing there were no more follow-up questions, the general continued. "As you all know, the UNSC stands as humanity's only defence against the alien onslaught. Millions have died already, with much of the Outer Colonies destroyed and the Inner Colonies under siege. However, there is no reason to despair. Our brave men and women fighting on the front lines and in space are doing what they do best: fighting the good fight, and fighting it well!" There was a smattering of light applause.

"But," the general said, expression turning dark, "There are those who, despite the threat that humanity faces, will stop at nothing to destabilise our efforts. These misguided people are fools. They claim to ideals of freedom, democracy and the right to their own path, yet in a moment they will turn away from debate and towards violence, bombings and terrorism. Such a thing helps no-one. Not them, not the UNSC, and certainly not humanity."

**"Notice how he keeps saying humanity?"** Alaska said dryly. **"****I think he's trying to send a message, but oh my, I can't make out what it is…"**

**"Stow the chatter, Alaska," **Carolina growled. The mouthy young chap fell silent, but not before letting out a petulant snort. He clearly wasn't happy about this whole business.

And, as time went by, neither was Florida, truth be told. At first Petrarch had started off on quite a roll, very inspirin', but now he was just reciting a list of…what were they called? Those things that were meant to sound great and all but came off sounding like…well, if they'd been made of something, they'd be made of cardboard with glitter on them. Flashy to look at, but flimsy as all heck.

Platitudes! That was the word. Yes sir, as Florida stood stock still, resisting the urge to scratch an itch developing between armour plates in his neck region, he felt himself becoming bored. He knew the speech was important, all right, and that it needed to be said, but by gum, it was like a broken record! The righteousness of the UNSC, the brave efforts of their marines, the wickedness of the rebels…it just kept coming. But the press were entranced by the whole deal, listening intently and scribblin' away.

At least his nagging feeling of unease was starting to recede a bit. That was a silver lining.

**"Doesn't look like you're having much fun in there, Florida****,****"** York's voice chuckled in his radio.

Without moving his head, Florida replied quietly (their helmets were soundproofed, but it didn't hurt to be sure). "Not the most excitin' thing I've ever heard, York old buddy. How can you see what's going on, anyhow?"

**"Oh, we've got more security cams on that room than on a celebrity going to rehab.****That's the one thing this place has heaps of, anyway. Carrying those drones is one of the reasons I'm not looking forward to a journalism career when I retire. Too much heavy lifting."**

Florida laughed lowly. That was their York: a joke for every occasion. "They do pack a lot do they? Heck, I never knew a city had so many gosh-darned news networks and newspapers." There were more patches, banners and emblems than you could shake a stick at! "Arcite News Network, Redwing News Channel, New Thrace Daily, New Thrace Times, New Thrace International News…"

**"Yep, they just keep-wait, what?" **All the laughter was suddenly gone out of his voice. **"****What was that last one?"**

"New Thrace International News? I've never heard of it either, but-"

**"It's not that!"** York sounded…urgent. Almost panicked. The bad feeling was coming back again. **"****Are you sure it isn't New Thrace News International?"**

Florida, his hackles rising, used the 2x zoom in-built for his helmet, and read the logo on a camera floating above the crowd. "No, I'm sure as can be, that's New Thrace International News. Maybe they're just another news network?"

**"**_**We're not taking that chance Florida!"**_Carolina was on the line all of a sudden, and she sounded even more panicked than York. **"****Find the owner of that camera and arrest him! Tell the general to get out of there! We're on our way!"**

"Right!" He contacted Wyoming and winked a red acknowledgment light. Red meant everything was about to go off the rails. Red meant trouble. Red meant potential disaster. Red meant-

_Stow it!_He moved forward, and went to tap the general on the shoulder. But before he could, one of the secret service types grabbed his arm, which would have been rather brave under other circumstances but right now was just a pain in the gut. "What do you think you're doing, merc?" the man whispered harshly.

"I'm not a merc, sonny Jim!" Florida whispered back, trying to keep it quiet. Even now, members of the press were starting to murmur, seeing the spectacle going on behind the general. "And you need to get the general outta here ASAP. Something bad's about to happen and-"

The young chap just rolled his eyes and snickered. 'Oh, sure, whatever you say. Just because you've got a funny feeling, merc, doesn't mean we're calling this conference off. In fact, I think you should leave right now." He grabbed his arm and tried to steer him away, but by this point, Butch had had enough of this hooligan.

Stiffening his arm, he yanked it out of the man's hold and drove an elbow into his stomach. As the security guard went down, gasping, he knocked him out cold with a swift rabbit punch to the forehead. He collapsed without a sound. His buddy gaped, and pulled a gun on Florida. "Hands in the air! Hands in the _fucking air!"_

The general turned around, fists clenched and red with rage. The press were gasping, asking questions, making an all-around hubbub. "What the hell is going on here?!" he roared. "Explain yourself, _freelancer_!"

For the first time, Florida didn't feel particularly proud or anything like it when the general used that word. But no time for that. "Sir, I've got intel that-"

And all of a sudden he was moving forward, pushing past the other security guard, past the general himself. Because he'd seen, among the mass of journalists and civilians, a figure moving with intent. One with ice-blue eyes and a stare full of hate. One that was fixed on the general. He was assembling something in his hands. It looked exactly what Florida expected it to look like. He'd had a microphone, but he had tossed it away.

Time slowed down then, as silly as it sounded. When he looked back, Florida was just glad his training took over, and not the fear. The general was the target. He'd found the assassin. No-one else had realised yet. It would take too long to draw his rifle, pull back the charging lever and cut the rebel down.

So that left-

He dived forward, just as the gun went off. It sounded like a thunderbolt in the confined space, and the screams started up almost right away. But Florida was having trouble hearing this. He was having trouble hearing anything over the sound of his heartbeat. It sounded ridiculously loud. Had someone turned up the volume on his bloodstream? He giggled at the thought. He couldn't stop giggling as warmth blossomed under his chest.

Trying to get up, he found he couldn't. Oh well. He could use a nap now-

_Another_darned thunderbolt! This one even louder. It sounded familiar. He couldn't place it though. He didn't want to, anyway. It was all too loud, and his giggle turned into a grumble. Why did they all have to be so noisy? He saw a woman, mouth wide open but nothing coming out, scrambling back from him as quick as she could. What was the matter? Was there a spider on his helmet? Maybe it was glowing. Ha ha.

A shadow fell over him, and he struggled to look up, but a white-armoured hand kept him from doing it, and a voice murmured to stay still. Then it yelled. "_Medic! Florida's been hit!"_

Oh. So that's what had happened.


	51. Chapter 50: The Fast and The Furious

**(A/N) Hey guys, it's Wednesday, and that means that it's time for another update! This chapter is brought to you by the amazing Ayane458, detailing the events immediately after Florida getting shot, from the eyes of Agent Massachusetts. Only two more days guys! Two more days to an incredible new season of RvB, and some very special news and announcements from us, so stay tuned for more. This is our official fiftieth chapter, and is a very special one, in my opinion. In it we see, for the first time, one of the main villains of this fic, the Insurrectionist Lieutenant Ian Harper, although admittedly, it's more of a glimpse.**

**As always, enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter Fifty – The Fast and The Furious**

**Agent Massachusetts**

**Written by Ayane458**

* * *

_"Massachusetts...where to begin? She was always there when she was needed, the backbone of the group, the one person that you could just be yourself around, and she wouldn't judge you. Well, not too harshly, at least. When the rookies came, it was Massa, Florida and York that made them feel welcome, while the rest of us preferred to ignore them, to be honest. She patched us up in the field, she nursed us back to health when we were wounded or sick, and she _never _complained. In a way, she was the big sister to us all. Having someone like that around, someone who cared..."_

_"Reggie?"_

_"It wasn't something that I was used to, Gamma. She was...so...sweet. She deserved better than Project Freelancer."_

- Wyoming and the Gamma AI (Extract taken from personal logs made after going AWOL).

* * *

The second she heard the shots go off, Massa knew she was in for a very long day.

In the mass confusion and hysteria immediately following, Massa couldn't begin to see what was happening on the podium. An armoured figure… two… the General being ducked out of the way as MP's herded the crowd away, desperately trying to restore some semblance of order. People running outside, panicking, some probably getting trampled in the process. Massa considered running in to help, but dismissed the idea – they had other people to take care of that, and she doubted she'd be given any forgiveness for abandoning her post.

Engines were started somewhere in the area, but Massa couldn't see anything moving through the tinted glass windows. In any case, the crowded area would slow anyone down.

**"Florida's down for the count,"** Wyoming informed them all over the radio. Instinctively, Massa took a few steps in the direction of her downed teammate, all the way across the expansive conference centre. Carolina's voice put a stop to that.

**"Everyone, get down here. Not you, Wyoming – stick with Florida and the General. Shoot anything that doesn't look friendly."** Carolina was terse, giving orders as she thought them out. **"The rest of us, we're going after them."**

The engines from earlier had come from a group of three warthogs. Massa narrowed her eyes – she recognised the Insurrectionist colours on the armoured soldiers. Except… their armour seemed different…

While the normal Insurrectionist troops tended to be equipped with armour identical to that of low ranking UNSC soldiers, these suits instead were bulkier, with helmets that offered full protection to the face, not just the head. In fact, despite their bulk and lack of variety in colour, the suits bore a certain resemblance to the freelancers' own sets of armour.

Clearly Penn hadn't destroyed all of the information the Innies had gathered when they had captured Massa and the others, or else they had managed to send their findings off, because those suits had clearly been based on freelancer tech.

The Director wasn't going to like this…

"Massa, come on!" Virginia yelled, tugging at her hand. The two women ran towards the Freelancers' own transportation, two warthogs. Carolina and York were already on one, York driving with Carolina on the turret. Penn and Alaska were moving in and arrived as Carolina gestured to Massa to get on.

"Good luck!" she called back to Virginia as she hurried to take shotgun while the other three jumped into the other warthog.

The Insurrectionists' group was already mostly through the crowd, and Massa felt a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. While the crowd was beginning to thin, there was no possible way they would catch up to the Insurrectionists now.

What she hadn't been counting on, it seems, was the creative approach York took to driving.

Using several moves of dubious legality even in the current situation, York successfully weaved his way through the remaining civilians at breakneck speed, allowing them to travel through the middle of the square and exit the same way the Insurrectionists did.

Unfortunately, the lack of warning had thrown Massa out of her seat nearly onto the road.

One hand gripping tight to her rifle and the other placing a few dents near Carolina's feet, Massa was very aware that they only thing keeping her steady were her bloody _ankles_ as the rest of her hung out of the Warthog.

"Massa, get on!" Carolina snapped. "You need to be ready to shoot."

"Well tell your boyfriend to give a lady a little bit of warning next time!" Massa snapped back, her voice uncomfortably shrill as she slid her legs back onto the seat, steadily easing her way back to her previous position.

Luckily, Carolina and York were far too preoccupied to notice her stupid voice.

"Whoa, hey, c'mon!" York protested. "I'm not her, y'know–"

"He's not my boyfriend," Carolina cut in firmly. "York, drive. Massa, the second that thing gets in range–"

"Things. Plural," Massa corrected tiredly. Riling Carolina up may not be the best idea right now, but as far as she was concerned it was payback for Carolina's dismissive response to her almost becoming a smudge on the road.

"Focus on the leader's ride," she ordered.

There was not any sort of rank insignia on any of the Insurrectionists, nor was there any difference in their armour that might indicate someone of high importance.

There was, however, the fact that the outside two Warthogs were taking protective positions around the one in the centre. Massa assumed that this was the one Carolina had meant. A Lieutenant Ian Harper, if her recollection of the briefing was correct. Cal appeared to have some sort of beef with him, judging by his outburst afterwards, but it wasn't in Massa's nature to pry. Well...to pry when it wasn't necessary. Swapping her assault rifle for a pistol _(damn, there's still civilians around – people better be careful with their turret fire)_ Massa stabilised herself as well as she could with her legs and aimed at the turret operator on the central jeep, the only one of the three occupants she had a clear shot at.

She made use of her HUD's zoom function and fired as the left Warthog's driver swerved, blocking her shot with his or her jeep.

Above her, Carolina had started up the turret, but she wasn't aiming it at Massa's obstacle. She was firing at the Warthog on the right, keeping their turret operator ducked down and unable to fire. Carolina couldn't do much about the woman who stood on the back of the jeep causing Massa so much frustration.

Massa cursed as the driver effortlessly kept up with her aim, blocking her target before she had a chance to fire. She was certain Wyoming could have riddled even the _driver_ of the front jeep with holes right now. Speaking of the other agents, where had the other three gone?

Alaska chose that moment to fly out of a side street a little further ahead than the other three Freelancers while Virginia wildly shot at the jeep in front of them. The woman on the turret fell, and York swerved out of the way to avoid her armoured body. Massa was certain that their Warthog would have come out the worse for that encounter.

"Where the hell were you?" Carolina snapped over the radio.

**"Terribly sorry, ma'am,"** Virginia replied easily. **"Al here thought an ambush would work."**

**"It sort of did!"** Alaska replied, not happy with his bright idea being dismissed.

"Did you get lost along the way?" Massa asked.

**"Stopped for drive-through!"** Virginia joked.

"Cut it out, you two," Carolina hissed. The other Freelancers had now pulled up beside them, and the streets were almost entirely devoid of people. Perhaps a warning had been given out. "Virginia, see if you can take out that warthog blocking the leader's. Penn and Massa, as soon as it's out of the way–"

**"He's dead,"** Penn finished. Massa nodded before realising that no one was actually looking at her and responding 'Yeah'.

Virginia aimed at the Warthog as the man in shotgun clambered over onto the turret. Penn shot him straight through the chest more times than strictly necessary and both Freelancer jeeps swerved to avoid the falling body.

Carolina had switched from suppressing fire to something more aggressive, aiming for the side of the Warthog-to-the-right, hoping to hit something vital. Unfortunately, every time her bullets strayed away for too long, their own turret operator would pop his head up and shoot back, forcing her to turn back to him.

Massa frowned, noticing something going on with the guy in shotgun.

York noticed it too. "Shit, rockets! Al, look out!"

Except the guy wasn't aiming at either Freelancer team. The Warthog that now only had a driver braked and swerved so that it was facing the Freelancers side-on, and a rocket hit the side, turning the Warthog into a large fiery projectile heading for the Freelancers.

Massa cursed colourfully with all the words her brother had taught her upon her entering the UNSC, Virginia proved herself equally well-equipped over the radio, York made an exclamation similar to his previous one and the other three remained stoically silent other than a 'Move!' from Carolina.

York swerved, up the sidewalk and nearly crashed into a brick wall, Massa leaning as far away from the building as she could while metal occasionally scraped against brick.

Looking back, Massa witnessed the Insurrectionists' improvised weapon collide with the other Warthog.

"Guys!" Massa yelled as Carolina turned to what had happened.

"No!" she screamed, the first break in her all business attitude Massa had witnessed that day.

Massa didn't have long to be either worried for her friends or impressed by Carolina's concern, because York called out a warning a second before he hit a parked car and through the Warthog into the air for a few frozen seconds, the world turning around them, before crashing down to the ground.

Massa must have blacked out, but not for long as very little had moved once she woke up. The Warthog had landed on its side, the driver's side, and Massa had been thrown from her seat and onto the pavement nearby. She quickly assessed herself for damage before moving: everywhere hurt, which she took as a good sign, and it all just felt like bad bruises. She might be black and blue tomorrow, but the armour had taken the worst of the damage for her.

Carefully sitting up and looking over herself to confirm her initial guess, she picked herself up and looked around.

York was still in the driver's seat, unconscious. His armour seemed mostly intact except for a few scrapes and dents, but Massa still wanted to check his head, which would likely have had a harsh meeting with the road.

Carolina had been thrown off too, but had woken up. She crouched on her knees and held her head with one hand, the other keeping her steady as she regained her senses. The other three…

About thirty metres down the road were two Warthogs, one flaming next to the other. The one not flaming –the freelancer's –had also turned on its side. Massa took a deep breath and made her way over there, preparing herself for the worst.

As she reached the Warthog that was _not_ on fire, pointedly ignoring the one that was and the burning body inside it, she was confused when she found it empty.

"Massa!" Virginia called from the sidewalk, her figure mostly obscured by the flames. Massa rushed around to meet her friend and only barely restrained herself from hugging her: maybe later, but she had other concerns now. Penn was sitting propped up against a wall, looking extremely dejected. Alaska was lying near him, helmet off, unconscious but alive.

Virginia nodded at her, a gesture Massa equated to an 'I'm glad you're not dead'. "These two got the worst of the damage. The Warthog hit them head on –I just had to duck and hold tight." Massa nodded back before busying herself with Al, while Virginia piped in again. "I checked him out. He had one hell of a tap to the head at some point and he probably injured _something_ in one of his legs based on how Penn and I had to get him out of his seat, but he's in no danger."

Massa smiled although no one could see it, and agreed with Virginia's assessment. "What about you two?"

Virginia waited patiently for Penn to answer first, which he did almost sullenly. "I'm fine."

Massa wasn't entirely sure whether or not she was willing to take that at face value, but decided it could wait. Virginia would probably tell her if she'd noticed anything wrong with him, anyway.

"Back hurts where I landed," Virginia told her. "Nothing more than that."

"Good," Massa sighed in relief. "I'm going back to check on York. Yell if anyone… uh, breaks a bone."

"Will do," Virginia replied drily as Massa jogged back.

Carolina and York seemed to have both recovered, and Carolina was gently helping York out of his seat.

"I take it that the others are fine?" Carolina asked as she approached.

"Yes, ma'am. Al's unconscious, but I can't find any serious injuries among them. We were lucky," Massa reported dutifully, adding the last to make sure Carolina understood that they weren't actually invincible. Although considering recent events, Carolina likely knew that well.

"And they got away," Carolina snapped.

"We'll get 'em next time, Carolina," York promised, easing his legs out of the Warthog and shakily rising to his feet.

"Massa, check York," Carolina ordered. "I need to report this to the Director."

With that, she walked off, still within sight but far enough away that none of them would catch any words over the Director and Carolina's private line. York and Massa exchanged looks, knowing full well that Carolina had just spared them the brunt of the Director's anger.


	52. Chapter 51: The Need to Know

**(A/N) Ok guys, time for our latest update, and with this come a few major announcements! Kind of suitable, given that this is a Director chapter. And that it's less than twenty-four hours after the premier of the first episode of Season 11 of Red vs Blue. You'd almost think that I had planned it this way! ;)**

**Anyway, I just wanted to inform you that, yesterday, we released the opening chapters of two new fics: "Grifball: Running Rampant" and "X-Ray and Vav", two projects that we are very excited to be working on. We're still looking for writers for our X-Ray and Vav fic, but will only be looking for another week, so if you're interested then head on down to our forum. Make sure to check out both fics. We have some big things planned for them!**

**We are also opening two new threads in our forum, specifically for applications for this fics sequel, and we're looking for writers for both established freelancers and new, OC, freelancers. For the sequel, the applications that we're currently looking for with regards to the established freelancers are for Connecticut and Utah. Yes, you heard me, we're looking for a writer for C.T. and Utah! What are you waiting for?! Get your ass over to our forum, now!**

**Anyway, enjoy!**

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**Chapter Fifty-One - The Need to Know**

**The Director**

**Written by NicKenny**

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_"It's daring to be curious about the unknown, to dream big dreams, to live outside prescribed boxes, to take risks, and above all, daring to investigate the way we live until we discover the deepest treasured purpose of why we are here." _― Luci Swindoll, "I Married Adventure"

* * *

"So, you allowed the Insurrectionists to get away," I stated, staring into the visors of the seven assembled freelancers. Carolina, York, Wyoming, Massachusetts, Virginia, Pennsylvania and Alaska, as Florida was still undergoing surgery for his wound. "Your best chance at taking them down, and yet they managed to slip through your fingers."

Agent Carolina unwisely took this moment to speak up, "With all due respect, sir, we took down several of them, and retrieved their modified armour. The leader got away, not due to any mistakes on our front, but because they decided to sacrifice their own men in order to allow their leader to escape."

I bristled at this outburst, and turned to face her. "Exactly, Carolina. He _escaped_. And for that the only agent that I can't find fault with is Agent Florida. While, yes, the assassination of General Petrarch was, indeed, prevented, that was not your only objective. May I remind you that Lieutenant Ian Harper is the second-largest threat to our project, only losing out to the leader of the Insurrection himself. The fact that he escaped from your grasp is something that I find unpardonable, and will indeed be reflected in the new rankings, after the new recruits partake in their first simulation mission."

I could sense the effect of my words on the group, as they shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other, none of them prepared to meet my eyes, well aware of the ultimate failure of their last mission. "I want you to all learn a lesson from this, and from the actions of Agent Florida. Don't be afraid to put everything on the line, in order to complete your objective. Do not fail me again. Next time I will not let you off as leniently as I have today. Dismissed."

The freelancers filed out, heads bowed in collective shame, and I could sense the frustration permeating of several of them, but directed at their own efforts, and not towards myself. Some of them (Carolina, Pennsylvania and Virginia), glanced at me as they filed out, and seemed to have something to say, but instead held their tongues and left with the rest of them.

Given the mood that I was in, that was probably the wisest course of action.

"Director," the Counselor murmured from his spot towards the far side of the room, "Do you not think that you were, perhaps, a little too harsh on them?"

I laughed: a cruel, harsh sound erupting from my lips. "No, Counselor, I let them off lightly. They failed to take down a serious threat to this project. I have little doubt that we will come to regret that fact, in the not too distant future. We've only just come across this Lieutenant Harper once in the field, and already I can tell that the sooner he's removed from the equation, the better. I do not tolerate failure, Counselor, in any shape or form."

The Counselor walked closer to me, his data-pad in hand. "They did prevent the assassination attempt, sir. And we have retrieved the bodies of the men they killed, including those suits of armour."

"I never said that the mission was a _total _failure, Counselor, just that we failed to eliminate a threat. The armour, in particular, was a valuable find. It appears that Agent Pennsylvania wasn't as successful at recovering or destroying the agents' suits during the rescue, or else they had already transmitted their finds to an offsite location. Either way, we are now looking at a very serious problem. Their suits offer superior protection in comparison to ours, but are considerably bulkier and less manoeuvrable. They compensate, in some ways, with a series of modifications built in, individual to every suit. It almost brings to mind a technology currently in development by another branch of the UNSC…"

I trailed off for a moment, my eyebrow furrowed as I concentrated on the holograms of the suits armour that we had obtained from the mission, my eyes searching them for information. In many ways, they had improved on our technology. The heavier mass was due to them utilising a particular form of titanium that offered greater protection than ours, which was more of a titanium-gold alloy, but restricted movement as a result. Personally, I found this modification to be detrimental. The usefulness of our agents hinged on their flexibility and speed, and I would take that over increased protection any day. However, some of their other modifications had intrigued me, and I made a mental note to bring up some demands next time HIGHCOM messaged the _Mother of Invention._ They had access to some assets that might greatly benefit my agents in the field…

At that moment, F.I.L.S.S. suddenly chimed in, interrupting my thought process. "Agent Arkansas is here to see you now Director."

"Ah, yes, thank you F.I.L.S.S.," I replied, dimly remembering asking her to send for him once I had finished the team's debriefing, "Send him right in."

The doors behind me _whooshed _open, and I turned around to see Arkansas march in, suited up in full armour, walking without a trace of the wound that had been inflicted on him only a few days before.

"You sent for me, Director?" he asked, somewhat uneasily as he took in his surroundings, and realised the room was empty but for myself and the Counselor.

I nodded slowly, pulling out my data-pad as I did so. "Yes, Arkansas, I did. I see you have recovered from your…spat with Agent California."

"Yes, sir. The medic on duty told me that I'd be fit for battle by tomorrow, but they just wanted to keep me overnight as a precaution."

His face was hidden behind his visor, which gave no suggestion as to what he was currently thinking, and his voice was carefully neutral, that of a man who had long ago realised the importance of choosing his words carefully.

I sighed, and shook my head. "Agent, when I interviewed your past-commanders, your drill sergeants, your teachers at the Academy, all of them told me the same thing. That you were level headed regardless of the situation, calm, collected, and, most importantly, _intelligent._"

I paused for a moment to let my words sink in. "I have seen little of this in the short period of time that you have been on-board this ship. I anything, I would be inclined to the exact opposite. So…what do you have to say for yourself?"

He glanced down at the ground, but I had no idea whether or not this was a genuine expression of shame, or just a façade made to placate my anger. "I can only apologise, sir, and guarantee that it won't happen again."

"Ark…" I murmured, pausing once more. "I didn't authorise the use of live ammunition in your fight against California, nor did I have any idea that said fight was occurring."

He looked back up at me, his head cocked to the side. "Sir?" he asked, in a voice of feigned confusion.

"The live ammunition is normally safely locked away within the armoury, and agents to not have access to it, except on particular occasions. Now, I have to ask myself, who has access to the armoury. Myself, the Counselor, and several other key members of staff on-board this vessel. However, I know that I did not remove that ammunition, and the other similarly assure me that they did not either."

Another meaningful pause on my behalf, but Arkansas continued to hide behind his visor, silent, unmoving.

"Then I ask myself, who else has the means to get in. Which agents have the skills that would allow them to hack into the system and deactivate the lock? The answer that I come up with, is yourself, and Agent New York. Now, York isn't exactly the type to encourage these sort of transgressions, so, once again, we come back to you."

Silence.

"We know you set up the fight between yourself and California, Arkansas," the Counselor broke in, his voice retaining the smooth and soothing quality that he had perfected for situations such as these.

Arkansas continued to stare at me, and finally spoke, his voice dark and guarded. "With respect, sir, you have no proof to back up that allegation."

I glanced at the Counselor, who had walked up next to me, and smiled. "You're right, Ark, we don't. However, we do have this."

He turned and his hand flickered across his data-pad, and the screen on the wall in front of him burst into life, displaying footage from Ark's recent fight with Agent California. I paused the screen at a particular moment and pointed to it triumphantly.

"There!" I exclaimed, turning to him. "You had enough time to make that shot, but instead you waited a fraction too long, allowing California to dive for cover. Why? If you were so intent on having this… "deathmatch" out with him, then why did you not take this shot?"

He stared at me, and shrugged.

"Because that could have killed him, sir."

"Was that not the very point of this fight?" the Counselor asked next to me, perplexed, but instead of answering, Ark just began to chuckle slightly, shaking his head.

"I never wanted to kill him. Believe me, that was never my intention," he began, then took off his helmet, smiling widely underneath it, the lights gleaming off his dark skin. "I just wanted to see what he would do, given that opportunity."

"You mean…if he would kill you?" I asked slowly, realisation beginning to dawn, although by the puzzled look on the face of the Counselor next to me, he still remained in the dark.

"I just wanted to see how far he would go. How far he would let me push him."

"And if he had killed you? If he hadn't stopped at simply wounding you and went the whole way?" I said, stroking my beard absentmindedly. "What then?"

Ark shrugged and smiled once more. "Then I would have known."

* * *

After I had dismissed Ark, ordering him to return to the medical wing in order to recuperate for tomorrow, when I would be sending the recruits out on their first simulation mission, I went back to my desk and began to stare out into the depths of space before me, not able to focus on the various screens in front of me. The Counselor had followed me in, carrying on with his work while pacing up and down in the far side of the room, but eventually he ceased his pacing, turned to me, and spoke up.

"Why didn't you punish him?"

I glanced over at him, pressing my hand up against my temple. "Arkansas, I assume. I didn't punish him because it wouldn't have served a purpose. In his mind, his actions were entirely justified, and anyway, he only put himself at risk."

"Does it not bother you that an agent would go to those lengths, just to see whether or not he was right about something?"

Smiling, I shook my head. "On the contrary, Counselor, that was the precise reason why I refrained from punishing him. An agent that is prepared to put his life in danger, just in order to size up a teammate…that is an agent that I can put to use. It shall be interesting to see how well our new recruits preform on tomorrow's simulation mission, particularly as I have laced Arkansas and California on the same team."

The Counselor started, his brow furrowing in concern. "Are you sure that that is wise, Director."

"I don't know, Counselor, but it will be interesting to find out," I replied, smiling warmly.

_After all, then I will know._


	53. Chapter 52: Protect the Base

**(A/N) Hey guys, time for another update, and you're really in for a treat here, as this is, by far, the longest update we've had to date! And of course, it's a North chapter, so that's something to be doubly thankful for! I think you're all going to enjoy this. I certainly did!**

**As I mentioned before, we're still looking for writers for our X-Ray and Vav fic, and you can see the first chapters of both that and our Grifball fic is you go onto our profile. We're also currently looking for writers for original freelancers for the sequel to this fic, along with writers for C.T., Utah, and, I'm sad to say, Wyoming. While I love writing for the Brit, I just don't have the time to dedicate to writing five characters while simultaneously running the collaboration. **

**As I say every update, enjoy!**

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**Chapter Fifty-Two - Protect the Base**

**Agent North Dakota**

**Written by StormBlue**

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"_As soldiers we have few saving graces. Perhaps our willingness to die for what we believe in is all that matters.''_- Leo V. Gordon

* * *

North took a look at his surroundings as his team stepped off the Pelican with him. The simulation base called High Ground was in front of them, with the beach behind them. Their objective was to hole up inside of the base and survive for as long as they could while under siege from Red simulation soldiers. South and Sota were both confident that they would be able to take out the Reds before being taken out themselves, but North wasn't so sure. If it was going to be that easy, their orders would have been different. Besides, the number of soldiers that would be attacking them hadn't been specified.

Team A consisted of Maine, Minnesota, South and himself. Team B had Cal, Mich, Georgia and Ark. After Ark and Cal's fight, South had been taking bets over how long before the two would come to blows during the mission, particularly since Cal was leading the team. North had been assigned as A's team leader, and they were to go first, with Team B watching the siege from a viewing room close by. They had chosen their weapons before coming here, and they could only have as much as they could carry. All their guns were equipped with laser sights and were designed to send the target into armour lock with a direct hit. The sim troopers were equipped with these weapons as well. North had the familiar weight of a sniper rifle attached to his back, with an SMG as a back-up. They had about ten minutes to assess the base and prepare for the arrival of the sim troopers, who were stationed farther down the beach, awaiting the order to attack.

They walked past the bunker and up the slope-a good strategic advantage for them-and through the large gate. North turned to his team. "South, I saw a turret in the center, I want you to go check the ammo on that, see how much we've got."

"Got it," she replied, then hurriedly left.

"Sota and Maine, could you scout the buildings and tunnels back there and see if you can find anything we can use?"

They both nodded, then left.

North moved to the side, toward the tower that was most likely built for snipers, and explored under it. Just as he thought, there was a passageway that led to the bunker. That would prove to be useful, as well as a disadvantage if the simulation soldiers tried to come that way. He returned to where they had been standing a minute ago, watching his sister run down from the wall.

"We've only got about a hundred rounds on that thing," she reported.

"Well that's not very much," North said in slight disappointment, "but we'll make do."

They both turned as Sota and Maine came back. Maine didn't have anything, but Sota was carrying a handful of frag grenades.

"This is all there was," Sota stated.

North considered them for a moment. He pointed to a small nook that was out of the way, yet easily accessible. "Stash them over there, we'll save them for later." He glanced around, deciding on where he wanted his team. "Maine, there's a breach in the wall, I want you over there. Make sure that nothing gets through. Minnesota, South, you two take the tunnel to the bunker and fight off who you can over there. If they start to overwhelm you, don't push it, just fall back. I'll be up there in the sniper position. Keep communications open and don't overdo anything. The only objective here is to stay alive."

Maine nodded wordlessly and left for his post, and South and Sota seemed less than happy to be stationed so close to each other, but went where they were told. North quickly went to the gate's controls and pushed the button that would close it, listening to the metal screech as it shut while he quickly climbed to the sniper nook. It didn't have very much room, with a short wall around it and a tarp overhead. He pulled his sniper rifle off his back and positioned it on the ledge, crouching behind it and skilfully setting it up. He looked through the scope down the hill to the beach and saw the Reds starting to emerge and charge up the hill, making a great deal of noise while they were at it.

"Alright, here they come," he said into the radio, warning the others. He aimed and fired his rifle a few times, using the laser sights to help him, taking out three red soldiers in front and causing a couple behind them to trip over their stiff armour-locked bodies, and he heard additional shots as no doubt South and Sota started firing their bullets into the fray. They were coming quicker than he had thought they would, and still not all of them had come up from the beach.

He fired a few more times, reloading in between, not missing a single shot. "Maine, preserve your ammo until they come closer. Let South and Sota take out the ones in front," he said, and heard a grunt from the quiet Freelancer as a response. The battle continued like this for several minutes, with North firing and reloading his sniper and occasionally ducking the erratically aimed spray of bullets sent his way. He could hear many shots from his sister and Minnesota down in the bunker, watching the Red-armoured figures freeze up and fall as a result. Whenever they got close enough to the wall, they were taken out by Maine. Yet still they continued to charge up from the beach, no discernible end to their numbers.

A shot louder than the rest suddenly rang through the valley and North instantly reacted, pushing himself to the side. He peered up to see a slight smoke trail disappearing and chink had been taken out of the rock wall close to him.

**"****Sniper**_**!**_**"** Sota yelled.

"Take cover! I'll take this one out," North told them, and glanced around. Another shot hit the side of his tower and he quickly followed the trail of smoke with his eyes, over to the jagged orange rock to his left that opened up as a tunnel in the cliff-face. He aimed his sniper and patiently waited for the trooper to come out and take another shot. He could see the barrel of another sniper peeking out from the side of the tunnel, and a red arm with it. North moved his sniper slightly so the red light of his laser rested on the arm, and he saw the soldier's other arm poke the dot for a second, then move as if shrugging. The rest of the soldier jumped out and aimed right at him, freezing as he saw North aiming right at him through his scope, but North had already fired and the soldier went into armor-lock.

"He's down," North reported to the others.

They had been firing shots of their own despite trying to keep out of sight of the sniper, but the rest of the troopers were closer than they had been before. They were jumping-or tripping-over the red bodies and had seized the opportunity the distraction had given them.

"Just keep an eye out, there could be more-" as soon as the words left his lips, another sniper shot the side of the bunker.

**"****You were saying?!****"** South shouted. North imagined the shot had been pretty close to her.

"I'll get the snipers, you three focus on the rest," he directed, and focused on the sniper and any others that might be hiding. They didn't have very good aim, and from he had heard of the Red and Blue armies, he wasn't too surprised at that. After he had taken out another three enemy snipers, he noticed with a bit of worry that the troopers were much closer than they had been before, despite the pile of frozen Reds that was building up. They had taken out probably around fifty of them, and there were still at least twice as many, if not more. They would overpower the Freelancers by sheer numbers.

**"****You know, we should aim for their heads,****"** Sota commented lightheartedly.

**"****Why?****"** came South's irritated reply.

**"****Because, it's more fun if you pretend they're zombies,****"** Sota replied.

North chuckled. "If you don't aim for the head, they get back up again," he joined in.

South didn't say anything, and they could hear a low growl from Maine, though he couldn't tell if it was from mirth or irritation. Maine was a hard person to read. North looked at the battlefield. There were a few sim troopers behind small concrete walls and hiding in the tunnels, trying to hit someone with their guns but missing horribly, and Maine was secure in his position, as whoever tried to get go his way got a pistol round to the face. As North watched, he tossed a grenade into the fray, pushing the advancing line of red soldiers back.

Over at the bunker where Minnesota and South still were, the Reds were starting to climb on the roof, searching for a way in. They had changed their strategies from outright charging to attempts at stealth and distractions. They were now trying to get the hatch at the top of the bunker open, which wasn't budging, apparently secured shut from the inside. They were still too close for comfort, and were trying to shoot through the windows.

"South, Sota, fall back through the tunnel. You can continue to take them out from here," North said, then after a second heard them affirm the command. He saw them emerge a second later and climb the wall, where they continued to fire down at the troopers from near the turret.

There was a slight commotion down in the sea of red armor.

"Hey, look what I have! You guys are going down!" one of the Reds called as he fired his rocket launcher.

North, seeing its trajectory, shouted a warning. "South, get down!"

The rocket sped toward her position, and she barely had enough time to drop into a crouch as the rocket exploded against the side of the wall, just a couple feet under where she was standing. The explosion rocked South off her feet, but she got up again after a few seconds, not taken out. North aimed quickly but barely missed, and the Red swung the barrel of his launcher at North's position.

"Son of a-" he tried to get away from the missile but was stopped by the confined spaces of the sniper nest. The explosion hit the tower and North was covered in rubble, but otherwise unhurt. The barrier that had been his cover had been taken out, and chunks of concrete surrounded him. He quickly rolled back to his feet and picked up his sniper from the debris and watched as a well-placed shot from Sota took the rocket-launcher-carrying Red down.

The simulation soldiers were now at the base of the wall and Maine was having a harder time keeping them contained. North suddenly had an idea. "Sota, remember those frag grenades?"

**"****Yeah. You think it's time to use them?****"** Sota asked.

"Yep. How many do you think you could take out if you took the tunnel back to the bunker and got them from behind?" North said as he reloaded his rifle with his last magazine.

**"****I like the way you think,****"** came Minnesota's smug response, and he fired once more before retrieving the grenades.

**"****Is it about time for that turret yet?****"** called South.

North nodded, even though they couldn't see. "Go ahead."

**"****Help Maine out, would you? I can't kill the Reds over by him from over here,****"** Sota suggested

**"Don't need help!"** Maine protested, his deep guttural voice grating over the radio.

South ignored him and activated the turret, mowing down the Reds that were in front of Maine. North looked on in satisfaction as a frag grenade came flying out of one of the small windows in the bunker and smashed itself into the groin of one of the red soldiers, who crumpled to the ground in agony.

"What the-?" the Red next to him managed to say before it exploded, sending him and his nearest comrades into armour lock.

North shot a Red holding a shotgun as more explosions erupted around the bunker and South's turret wound down, out of ammo. The Reds had been pushed back, but North didn't know how long that would last.

**"****Uh guys? You might wanna look out!****"**Sota said, alarm in his voice. Another explosion came, this time inside of the bunker.** "****Apparently, the sim troopers have grenades too,****"** he said as he came out from the tunnel.

The bunker walls were left intact, but the explosion inside had blasted whatever South and Sota had put up as a blockade for the hatch on top, which had been blown open. The Reds, upon seeing this, started cheering. North quickly aimed his rifle at the spot and shot down one, two, three soldiers before his sniper clicked, empty.

"They're headed through the bunker!" North shouted as he tossed the rifle away from him, unclipping his SMG and hurrying down to help Sota. Instead of just rushing through, the Reds were just camped at the other side, returning fire at Sota. North crouched next to the white and gray Freelancer and added his bullets to his teammates.

This lasted for a few minutes while more and more Reds piled up and they were advancing, and it didn't take long for Minnesota to run out of ammo. "We're not going to be able to contain them," he said, turning to North.

"Right," North agreed. "We need to fall back to a more secure location, but we need something to distract them."

Sota grabbed something round at his side. "It's a good thing I saved this then," he said, showing North the frag grenade he had brought along. "I also saw where we could fall back to when I found the spike grenades."

"Go ahead back there then, show South and Maine where it is. I'll meet up with you in a minute," North said, and Sota nodded to him, tossing him the grenade. North continued to fire his SMG as he left.

**"****We're falling back guys, come on!****"** Sota informed the others.

The Reds continued to advance, but it didn't matter. In a minute, they'd all get blown into armor-lock anyway.

**"****Too many-!****"** Maine growled over the radio.

North glanced over to his position. The Reds were surrounding Maine, who was attempting to take them all on in close-quarter combat, but there wasn't room to manoeuvre. He watched as the large white Freelancer suddenly froze up and toppled over like he had seen many of the simulation troopers do.

"Maine is out," he reported to the others and turned back to the entrance in front of him. There wasn't any more time to lose, so he flicked the pin out with his thumb and threw it. Instead of staying to watch, he ran in the other direction, listening to the Reds bicker amongst themselves.

"Hey, you dropped a grenade."

"What? That's not mine!"

"Where'd the purple guy go?"

The expected explosion slightly shook the ground, and North ran into the nearest building, realizing he didn't know where Sota had planned to fall back to. Before he could do anything, however, a voice called to him.

"North! Over here!" South was beckoning to him from another room and he quickly crossed over to her. She led him through a few doors and hallways to where Sota waited.

"So what's the plan now?" he asked.

"Try not to get ourselves killed," North offered.

Sota shrugged. "Sounds good to me."

South stared at them. "What about ammo? Sota's out and I've only got about a half clip left."

"We could probably grab some from the sim troopers. I didn't hear anything in the rules about not being allowed to do that. They have the same weapons we do," North said.

They all cringed when metallic screeching sounded, informing them that one of the Reds had operated the gate controls, leaving it wide open for the rest of the troopers to come in with larger numbers. He looked around a little worried. This wasn't the best place to be, but it was better than what they had before. There were two ways out, and North didn't know where the other one went. He would have preferred if the Director had given them more time to familiarize themselves with the base, but he understood the need to limit them. They were here to test themselves, after all. And if they couldn't work with what little what they were given, they weren't good enough to be put into the field.

North turned to the weaponless Minnesota. "Go see if you can find a way to surprise them. South and I will hold them off."

South raised her battle rifle as they listened to the approaching soldiers. "You ready?"

He couldn't see her face, but North could tell by the tone of her voice that she was grinning. "I'm always ready. I would prefer if they came a little slower though." A smile was on his face as well.

She gave a short laugh. "Is the action too fast-paced for you?"

"You never were one for patience," North commented.

Their playful bickering was interrupted by the arrival of the Reds, and they were both on either side of the doorway. The Reds were about to come running, but started cursing as North and South fired at them. They ran for cover, falling over themselves, then engaged in a back-and-forth firefight with the twins. North could see where the Reds were hiding, but couldn't hit them easily with the SMG, despite the laser sights. On South's side, the Reds were closer to her, but were able to dodge the shots from her BR.

"Switch!" North called, and South acknowledged. A second later, the twins traded guns, beneficial to both of them. North was able to aim more precisely, and soon all the ones on his side were down, and looking over, he saw that South had taken out hers as well. It seemed these ones had come in a group, so they had a minute to spare before more followed.

"I didn't see anything that can help us," Sota reported when he returned.

"I guess we'll just have to keep moving," South said, and walked in the room with the downed soldiers and picked up a pistol. Sota quickly joined her. North dropped the battle rifle, as it only had about three shots left, and was about to pick up another weapon when something caught his eye. A small red dot was moving along the floor then onto his sister, jumping between South and Sota.

There wasn't any time to shout a warning, or even think. North lunged at them and pushed them out of the way as a shot sounded. He felt the impact of the bullet on his chest-piece and also felt the resulting sting, and he fell forward as his armour locked up. South and Sota, realizing what was happening, jumped clear of the window. North could see the sniper now on a ledge across from them, at the only position where they could be seen. The armour-lock had taken out the communications in his helmet, so he couldn't get any word out to the others, in playing the role of being dead. He was out of the mission now, but he didn't regret anything.

South and Sota looked at him for a minute, then moved out in the direction Sota had scouted just a moment ago. After a minute, he heard guns being fired. He had to trust that Minnesota and his sister could take care of themselves, as it wasn't like he could do anything to help in his current state. He still wished he could see what was going on though. He had a view of the room that he was in and see out the window, but as he couldn't move his head, he couldn't see much more than that. North laid on the floor for a while, listening to the gunfire and to his twin yelling at Sota and their attempts at communication with each other. He suddenly felt sorry for the simulation soldiers that had been taken out first, who had to lay frozen in the middle of the battlefield for...how long had it been since the start of the mission?

He heard voices coming closer as Sota and South were pushed back into the room.

"What now? We're completely boxed in!" South exclaimed in frustration.

Sota was a little more calm. "The mission never said we were supposed to survive. Just last as long as we could," he said.

"Hey guys, look at what I found!" one of the Reds called, his voice somewhat muted and faraway. The constant chatter from the other Reds suddenly died down, and it was quiet outside. The two Freelancers looked around, wary, not liking the sound of that.

A quiet clunking sound started reverberating through the walls, like it was echoing off of something. It got louder and closer as the sound multiplied, and North glanced around his limited range of vision. He suddenly realized what was happening as he saw the large pipe near the ceiling, and the open end that was in the room.

Sota realized the same thing only about a second before the Reds started falling into the room, and he quickly fired into the opening. South did the same, but she was farther back than Sota, and slowly backing away as she fired her pistol. North watched Sota quickly get overcome by the troopers and fall down close to North, and he saw South turn and run. She appeared outside a moment later, and she stopped to make a last stand against the Reds, but she only lasted about a minute before she, too, succumbed to the sheer numbers of the Red army.

Like that, the round was over. The surviving Reds started cheering and bickering amongst each other, but that was cut off as their armour locked up as well. Before North could question that, his own armour-lock deactivated and his limbs went limp. Groaning, he shook his head and pushed himself off the ground, seeing Sota do the same. North pulled his helmet off as Sota looked over at him.

"Man, that was crazy," Sota said.

"Tell me about it," North agreed as they started walking to catch up with South and Maine A transport would then come pick them up, and Team B would take the spotlight.

"Listen, about back there..." Sota began. "Thanks. It's always nice to know you've got someone watching your back."

North smiled. "No problem." He hadn't thought much about it at the time, and he didn't doubt that he would do the same on a real battlefield. Looking after his team was always important to him. They went outside to find South groaning and cursing. "You alright?" North asked, worried.

"Yeah," she replied. "Those bullets _sting _though."

Sota chuckled. "It'll sting even more in real combat," he said.

They went together to the wall of the base, looking around. Maine was already on the other side, waiting for their transport to arrive, and North looked in awe at the sea of Red armour that surrounded them.

"Where did they even find all of these guys?" South muttered.

"How many do you think there are?" North pondered aloud.

The hum of engines interrupted their chatter, and North led the way down to ground level, where two jeeps had parked. They were just standard issue transport, no turrets or anything fancy. Maine and Sota climbed into one while North and South were in the other, and the designated drivers took off. They drove down the beach and saw that there really weren't that many sim troopers that hadn't gone up the hill. The ride only lasted a few more minutes before they reached a small building just as two other jeeps took off with Team B in them. They went inside the building and walked up to a screen where they were supposed to watch how Team B handled the siege.

A voice from a terminal next to the screen spoke up. "Welcome back, Team A. You did very well on the test," F.I.L.S.S. congratulated them.

"What was the time?" South spoke up.

"Thirty-seven minutes, forty-two seconds," F.I.L.S.S. replied.

That long? It had felt shorter. Or had it felt longer? North couldn't decide. A soldier's sense of time tended to go away during combat. He turned his attention to the screen where the last of the Reds were leaving, not in armour-lock anymore, and Team B started scouting the base and preparing with the little time they had. From where the camera was that they were watching from, they could see the bunker, the hill and the wall of the base, as well as behind it. They couldn't see inside the buildings, which appeared to be where most of the team had vanished, and North wondered what they were up to. He saw Arkansas bending over the breach where he had stationed Maine, and was curious as to what he was doing, but couldn't see from this angle.

Ark straightened up and ran to catch up with Michigan, who had reappeared and they conversed for a second before disappearing again. Team A couldn't hear what they were saying, as no one from Team B was using their radios yet, which would have transmitted what was being said to the viewing room. Through the windows of the bunker, North could see Georgia and Cal moving around like they were manoeuvring something heavy, but he couldn't tell what it was. It looked like some kind of lightly glowing barrel.

Cal climbed through the hatch on the roof and pulled out a sniper rifle, setting it up on the roof, much lower to the ground than North's position had been and also closer to the combat. Georgia stayed inside of the bunker, and Ark and Mich joined him there, and they were ready just in time as the Blue soldiers that would be attacking them started rushing up the hill, much like the Reds had done. Shots cracked in the air as Cal shot them one by one, then reloaded. He wasn't as skilled as North with the sniper, but he was closer, so it was easier for him to hit his targets.

The others were firing from inside, and together they kept the Blues back for a bit, but not indefinitely. The Blues were getting closer, and Cal fired one more round before turning and climbing down the hatch and into the bunker. He fell back with Georgia to the top of the wall and continued firing from there, Cal with his sniper and Georgia with an assault rifle. North could also see a rocket launcher attached to Georgia's back.

South scoffed, looking at the breach in the wall. "They're just leaving it unprotected?" she asked.

"Maybe Ark did something," Sota suggested.

"Trap," growled Maine, who was usually quiet. Also quite perceptive, as North looked closer at the area, it did look like some kind of trap had been set up there.

The Blues continued to advance despite the efforts of Team B, and finally Cal called to the others on the radio, where the transmission was connected to the viewing room that Team A was in.

**"****Ark, Mich, it's time to fall back,****"** he said.

**"****On it****,****"** came Ark's reply, without a trace of the expected scorn, the fight between the two apparently forgotten, at least for now, and they retreated to the top of the wall next to Cal and Georgia.

North had no idea what they were up to, as they were all grouped together, rather than spread out, guarding separate areas of the base. He wouldn't say it wasn't a good strategy, it was just unexpected. But he wasn't about to underestimate them. He was sure they had something up their sleeves. He kept watching as the Blues approached the bunker, looking in the windows and climbing on the roof, trying the hatch on top. Surprisingly, it opened on the first try.

They were taken aback. "They left it open?" Sota asked.

"They'll be vulnerable," South protested.

"Wait..." North could still see the barrel-thing that they had pushed in there, and also noticed that Team B had a clear view of it from where they were standing...a clear view, and a clear shot.

As the Blues filed in the bunker, Cal leaned in and said something to Georgia, who put away his assault rifle and pulled the rocket launcher off of his back. North could almost see the grin on Georgia's face as he aimed it at the bunker and fired the missile. It flew perfectly through one of the windows and connected with the barrel, which apparently had exploding tendencies. The resulting explosion was much bigger than what would have occurred if it had just been the rocket launcher, and all of Team B crouched and protected themselves from the flying rubble.

"Woah!" Sota exclaimed. "What was that?"

"It must have been a fusion core," North answered.

"Why didn't we find that?" South asked, looking over at Sota.

He shrugged. "I didn't see one of those. It must have been tucked in a corner somewhere."

When the dust cleared, they could see that a section of wall from the bunker had been knocked down, and the rubble blocked the passage. He could see bits of blue armor sticking up here and there. "I hope they didn't get hurt," North muttered.

"Nah, the armour-lock would've protected them," South said. North couldn't argue with that.

The explosion certainly had given the rest of the Blues pause, but they quickly recovered and went back on the offensive, some of them firing up at the wall while others worked on trying to clear the passageway in the bunker so they could get through. They started going up to the breach, seeing it as a point of entry, yet when the first one was about to go through, another explosion went off, though not as large as the last one. The trap that Ark had set blew the Blues back and made a cascade of rock fall down, covering the breach.

"They've effectively locked themselves in," North said. "The simulation soldiers will have a tough time getting through that."

The Blues were actually being fairly smart about this, trying to focus their efforts on getting in, while others drew the fire of Team B. Team B wasn't that easily fooled though, so while Mich and Georgia were taking out the Blues that were firing at them, Cal and Ark were shooting the Blues that were moving debris out of the way.

The relative safety of Team B was compromised when the tell-tale crack of a sniper rifle rang through the valley, and this wasn't one of Cal's shots. The smoke trail led right about to Mich's hand, and they all instinctively ducked, diving behind whatever cover they could find. Two more shots fired but missed, and after the fourth, Cal sprang up and swept the area with his own sniper, knowing the enemy had to reload. He fired but missed, then fired again. He hit his mark, and the Blue stiffened, dropping his sniper from the ledge he had been firing from.

"Here comes a rocket Blue," Sota suddenly remarked.

It didn't take much looking to find him, a Blue triumphantly carrying the big weapon. He crept along the cliff and used the tunnels in the rock as cover to get closer. He peeked out from the other side and aimed his rocket not at the Freelancers, but at the rubble that blocked the breach. He fired several times at the blockage but didn't clear much, as whenever the rock and concrete would get blasted away, more would fall down to take its place. Finally, Mich took him out with her assault rifle.

The blasts, however, had managed to knock out just enough that a pipe was visible, and North realized that this was the same pipe that led inside. One of the Blues crept in unnoticed. "That's not good," he said, pointing it out.

"Neither is that," Sota pointed to a different part in the screen, where one of the sim troopers was trying to toss grenades up to the top of the wall. Most of them bounced off the wall to explode on the ground again, and one even sailed clear over the wall and exploded on the other side. The sim trooper was quickly killed, but the others quickly caught on, and whoever had brought grenades started throwing them up at the Freelancers. Georgia hopped on the turret and started unloading rounds into the troopers, taking down a lot of them. He seemed to be enjoying himself, and didn't notice the one grenade that landed next to his feet. When Ark saw it, he rolled away, crashing into Mich and sending the small Freelancer sprawling, and Cal was far enough away from the blast that it didn't affect him. However, Georgia didn't get away and the force pushed him back and sent him into armour lock. Mich shoved Ark off of her and furiously sprayed the Blues below with her assault rifle and Cal tossed his sniper away, out of ammo.

"There are more soldiers going through the pipe," Sota pointed out.

"Where'd that one Blue go?" South asked.

North looked around and saw him from the corner of his eye. "Over there," he said. The Blue that had crawled through the pipe was creeping around, trying not to be seen and get to the gate control. He obviously knew he was outmatched if the Freelancers saw him, so he didn't even try to go for them.

Cal suddenly turned back and retreated back to the other buildings, and North guessed he was moving to secure a fallback position. However, he was halted at the sight of more Blues one by one coming out of the room with the other end of the pipe, and he started bringing them down with his pistol. His hand reached up to his helmet and he contacted the others. **"****We've got a leak!****"**

Mich and Ark turned at that instant, and after a glance back at the slope covered with simulation soldiers, turned to assist Cal. The Blues on the other side of the wall couldn't cause any damage, and the immediate threat was behind them. They kept the Blues at bay for a bit without much trouble, but the Freelancers in the viewing room could see something those in the battle couldn't. The lone Blue was still creeping along behind Cal and his teammates, unseen. He was about to reach the gate control to leave it open for the rest of the large amount of Blues still waiting outside. Right as he was reaching it, however, he had been so focused on not being noticed by Team B that he tripped and fell over.

Michigan was the only one that heard him over the sounds of the firefight, and she whirled around, unleashing several rounds from her rifle as soon as she saw him. But it was too late, as the Blue already pressed the button and the large gate started to screech open. This caught Cal and Ark's attention, and Cal apparently started yelling at them to fall back, even though North couldn't hear him. Ark turned and retreated first, but instead of Cal doing the same, he moved like he was about to shove Mich down. Two sniper shots were fired and Cal was too late. Mich toppled over awkwardly, unable to move.

Sota sighed from next to North. "Just one of those things that remind you to watch your back," he said.

"Even the strongest defences can be taken down by just one soldier," North agreed.

South nodded and Maine just growled lightly.

Cal and Ark had both disappeared as the Blues darted everywhere within the compound, having free run of the place. The screen suddenly shifted and North realized it was showing them a different viewpoint. This one was closer to the ground and they could see that crates filled a doorway, blocking anyone looking to attack them. Cal was about to push up the last crate in the make-shift barricade, but he kept it down though, and Ark stood ready with the frag grenades that had been supplied to them. A few Blues turned the corner and saw them and started waving the others over, but turned and ran as Ark started chucking the grenades, taking two or three Blues out per explosion. But soon he ran out, and Cal pushed the crate up fully, leaving it closed.

The Blues returned and came face-to-face with the barricade. They couldn't get any shots through and tried banging on the crates for a few minutes, but that didn't work. Then a group of about five of them laid their hands on one of the crates and all pushed simultaneously, shoving the crate into the room. North hadn't thought the blockade would last long. Ark and Cal didn't hesitate to start shooting, and while they had nowhere else to go, they seemed determined to take down as many Blues as they could. Strangely, despite the bad blood between the two, they actually worked quite well together as a team. However, there were simply too many Blues, and they could only last for a few moments. First Cal fell, then not a minute later, Ark followed him.

South leaned forward, eager. "What was the time? Who won?"

"The time was thirty-three minutes, twenty-seven seconds. You beat their time by four minutes, fifteen seconds. Congratulations Team A," F.I.L.S.S. responded.

South and Sota were rather delighted to hear this, and even Maine's lips curled up a little. North didn't really care who won, as he wasn't into competition. He did have a smile on his face though as they walked outside to wait for the Pelican to come pick them up.


	54. Chapter 53: A Monster

**(A/N) Hey guys, time for the latest update of Phase One: Genesis! This time we take a bit of a break from all the action, from the POV of a character that you wouldn't really associate with that concept, Agent Maine.**

**As I mentioned before, we're still looking for writers for both our X-Ray and Vav fic, and for our sequel to this fic, whose name will be revealed in good time. If you're interested, get onto our forum _immediately_, or message me for more info. We hope for the sequel to be even bigger and better than this fic, if, indeed, that's even possible, so hey, why not try out? Got nothing to lose!**

**Enjoy!**

**Chapter Fifty-Three - A Monster**

* * *

**Agent Maine**

**Written by Jerem6401**

* * *

"_He's one of the most powerful and talented soldiers I've ever met. So I'd say I respect him. Oddly enough, did you know 'respect' is a synonym for 'fear?'"_ - Extract ftom the Personal Logs of Agent North Dakota, regarding Agent Maine.

* * *

**"We're on approach,"** the pilot relayed over the radio system. **"Everyone should make sure they take all their shit with them."**

North leaned back and placed his hands behind his head. "I have to say, congrats again everyone!" he said happily. "I knew our team was unbeatable. Me and South alone are a great pairing, what with our recon and sniping capabilities, but having the opportunity to put Maine and Sota up front to guard the line. Perfection! No way another team could beat this one."

"Calm down, North," Sota butted in. "Even if we got a better time than Team B, we were still eventually overwhelmed."

"We'll get stronger," Maine mumbled. He was leaning forward in his seat, rubbing his fist into his palm. His white armour was still stained with dirt from the battle. Maine kept replaying the simulation battle over and over again in his head. What could he have done better? What weaknesses didn't he exploit? What didn't he do… that Penn would have done?

"Nevertheless, I think you guys did a great job," North finished. "I don't care what anyone says." North sat forward again and ran a hand through his hair. "I just hope the guys on the real mission came out successful."

"You kidding me?" Sota asked. "Did you see the soldiers on that squad? There's no way they're not all drinking in celebration already."

"That's York you're thinking of," South corrected. Maine remembered York. The one who tried to talk him out of his fight. The one who acted like a friend to him… maybe the first person to ever act like a friend to him. The first to see him as a human.

* * *

"Soldier!" Sergeant Reynolds screamed at Maine. Maine was standing at attention next to two other Privates. The UNSC had just wiped out an opposing army and was ready to move forward. They had just entered this village on the journey, which could be hiding an ambush. "Sweep these houses! We need to make sure no enemy is hiding out here before progressing."

Maine nodded and turned towards the first home. He slammed his foot into the locked door, which swing open into the home. The inside of the room was pitch black, only the light coming through the doorway gave any indication of what was inside. Maine's shadow was large enough to block most of it, making anything directly in front of him a mystery. Maine stepped inside, his weapon held firmly in his hands. Then he heard it, the door slowly creaking shut. Maine snapped around as an enemy soldier jumped from behind the door and swatted his gun away.

"Get out of my home!" he shouted.

Maine's gun tumbled onto the ground and disappeared into the shadows. Then there was a loud ripping sound that echoed through the home. The man stepped away from Maine, taking some deep breaths and staring straight forward. Maine slowly looked down to see the handle of a knife sticking out of him, on the right side of his chest. Blood was running from the wound and painting his dark green uniform a sickly red. Maine slowly looked back up at the man and titled his head. The man's eyes shot open as he stepped back.

"Wha… what?" He stepped back again, clipping something on the ground and falling to his backside. "What the hell are you?"

Maine grabbed the handle of the knife and ripped it out of his chest, sending droplets of blood flying into the air and landing on the terrified man's cheek.

"Something wrong with me?" Maine asked, a bit of anger in his voice. Maine knelt down and grabbed the man's throat. He stood back up, lifting the man off the ground. "So what am I?!"

Maine held the man tighter as he struggled for air. "Some kind of monster?!"

Maine had repositioned the knife in his hand and slammed it forward, driving it into the man's temple. The man fell limp and stopped struggling. Maine dropped his body to the floor and wiped some blood off his chest. The door slowly opened a bit more from the wind, shedding a little more light on the dead soldier. But that's what Maine noticed. This was no soldier.

He had no uniform, no gun, no badge. Maine stared at him as he caught his breath. Then he heard it. A small whimpering coming from the corner of the room. Maine looked in its direction while slowly opening the door more, so light would flood that area. There they were in the corner. A woman, clutching a small boy in her arms as tears ran down both of their faces. Maine looked at them and then down at the corpse on the floor.

"Leave us alone!" the woman demanded. "Why did you kill him?! Who are you?!" Maine looked at his hand and then slowly up to them again. He made his way to the door and closed his eyes. He stepped out of the home and quickly shut the door behind him, sealing the situation away.

"Monster…"

* * *

"Still," North began, "I see Sota's point. The freelancers that were here before us are incredible. Carolina, Alaska, York, Penn, Wyoming, Massa, Flor…"

"Quiet down back there!" the pilot shouted back at them from the cockpit, no longer bothering to transmit his messages over the radio system. "Gotta call us in!" He flicked a switch on the dash and waited for the static to fade into a light hum. "This is pilot Seven-Twenty-Six requesting permission to dock in landing bay 8."

There was a moment of silence, longer than usual.

"Request granted Seven-Twenty-Six," a voice responded. "Sorry on the delay. We've had a lot of traffic and scrambling over here." The freelancers on board all looked up at the announcement and slowly looked at one another.

"What's the cause?" the pilot asked.

"We've got another wounded soldier here," he replied. "Florida. He's banged up pretty badly." Maine slowly looked up from the floor and stared at the wall in front of him.

"Butch?" North asked. "What a shame. He's a good soldier, and a great guy. I guess they just got overwhelmed." The ship started to slow as it approached the MOI's landing bays. Maine lifted his harness and stood up.

"Not his fault," he growled. He turned his back to the others and put a hand on the overhead rack for stability.

"How do you know?" Sota asked. "We weren't there. I think North's assessment is probably dead on." Maine quickly snapped his head around to Sota. His helmet still firmly locked into place, while every else on the team had removed theirs. Maine's visor was just a shield that reflected everyone's looks… and thoughts back at them. No emotion escaped from him. Just a shroud of mystery.

"The Director," he spoke quietly. He dropped his hand off the overhead rack and clenched it into a fist. "We weren't utilized!"

"You think if we were there, it wouldn't have happened?" South asked. "I mean, think about it, Maine. That was an all-out war they were in. They were literally putting their lives at risk to protect some idiot general."

"And we're still recruits," North stated, finishing his sister's sentence. "I think we would have been more of a hindrance if we were out there, pal. At least until we do some more training with the guys a little higher up. Like Carolina, York, or Penn…"

Maine's full body turned to face North. His arm quickly shot out and ripped North out of his seat, severing the harness from the wall and sending sparks flying. South leaned away from them and Sota unlatched his harness, preparing to step in. Maine pulled North in so close his nose was pressed against Maine's visor.

"We're soldiers!" he growled furiously. "I'm sick of being just a rookie!" He threw North back into his seat and stepped back. He looked at the back of the ship as it unsealed with a rush of air. Before dropping down, revealing the landing bay of the MOI. Maine started towards the exit, before stopping and turning his head slightly to speak over his shoulder. "I am a monster."


	55. Chapter 54: Focus on the Pain

**(A/N) Hey guys! Sorry that this update is coming a little late, my electricity went down again last night. I swear, it's like living in the dark ages over here. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this, particularly as I was the one who wrote it! I had a good time writing it though, and I hope that'll come across. As before, we're still looking for writers for both the X-Ray and Vav fic, and for Phase Two, so come on! Apply!**

**As always, enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter Fifty-Four - Focus on the Pain**

**Agent Arkansas**

**Written by NicKenny**

* * *

"_Joy, sorrow, tears, lamentation, laughter - to all these music gives voice, but in such a way that we are transported from the world of unrest to a world of peace, and see reality in a new way, as if we were sitting by a mountain lake and contemplating hills and woods and clouds in the tranquil and fathomless water." _― Albert Schweitzer

* * *

He stood watching her, knowing that she was completely oblivious to his presence, her mind totally focused on the training at hand. Her fists lashed out, flashing by in a blur, and then she spun, kicking out a green circle to her left, which flashed red at the moment of contact. Within a few more seconds the remainder of the green circles had turned read, and Carolina turned, panting slightly, and noticed the figure staring at her from the doorway.

"What do you want, Ark?" she asked wearily, taking off her helmet and brushing back her hair with her free hand.

Ark shrugged, pushing his back off the wall and standing up straight, his helmet concealing his expression. "Just wanted to see what the best looks like," he murmured, his voice containing a note of an emotion that Carolina couldn't quite place.

Carolina just shook her head in exasperation and brushed past him into the corridor, making her way towards the locker rooms, but what Ark said next stopped her in her tracks.

"I know who you are, Carolina."

She turned around slowly and looked back at him, her eyes narrowed, containing more than a trace of hostility. He smiled beneath his helmet, delighting in her reaction, and leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms.

"What do you mean?" she asked slowly, her voice trembling in a barely withheld tide of anger. "What are you trying to say, Ark?

He rolled his eyes, although this action, of course, passed by unnoticed, as his features were hidden beneath his helmet. "I know, Carolina. I know who you are. I know who your _father _is, more specifically."

She stared at him for another moment, her brow furrowed, confused by his knowledge, unable to understand how this was happening. "I don't know what you're talking about, Ark, but I don't like your tone. I suggest you should go and lie down for a bit, if you know what's good for you."

"You know _exactly _what I'm talking about, Carolina. Class of 2544, Cursor Academy of Military Science. All of the records you set are still there. You're a legend amongst the students there. They all aspire to be you, to outshine you, though of course none of them ever do." Ark paused for a moment, and fumbled with the latch on his helmet, removing it and breathing in deeply, taking in the fresh air, his hazel eyes locking on hers.

"I was one of them."

Carolina blinked for a moment, her features briefly flickering through a variety of emotions: anger, confusion, disbelief, among several others, before finally returning to the utterly blank face that she had perfected. "What do you want, Ark," she asked again, this time sounding more weary than irritated.

He shrugged, turning away and marching back into the training room. "I don't want anything," he said to her as he left, "I just wanted to let you know."

Ark felt her eyes on his back as he strode to where F.I.L.S.S. had set up a table filled with a variety of weapons, but when he turned around after picking up a pair of magnums and making sure that they were fully loaded, she was nowhere to be seen.

"Agent Arkansas, I notice that you've chosen to train with the magnums today, rather than the shotgun, the weapon you've usually used in combat situations," the familiar artificial voice noted through the room's speakers.

Ark glanced up towards the ceiling and smiled beneath his helmet. "Yeah, F.I.L.S.S., it's just that the shotgun isn't exactly a precision weapon. You just get in range, point and fire. I thought it might just be a good idea to train with something that actually requires accuracy."

"Very well, then, agent. I will run the training program now."

The room shook a little as machinery began to whir in some part of the ship, and bright green circles appeared in the room, scattered in an apparently random pattern throughout, some near to Ark, others far away.

He glanced at the ceiling one more half, half expecting F.I.L.S.S. to give him the order to begin, but when she remained silent he simply shrugged and raised the guns, firing rapidly at the two nearest targets. No sooner had he pulled the triggers, then the floating holographic circles suddenly began to move, dodging his shots and continuing to move away from him. The others followed suit, rapidly spinning around him, doing everything that they could do to make hitting them as difficult as possible.

Ark swore under his breath, wondering if this was F.I.L.S.S. punishing him for his earlier confrontation with Carolina. It wouldn't be all that surprising, after all, given who controlled F.I.L.S.S…

Shaking his head he raised the two magnums once more, this time tracking the movements of his targets before firing and taking them down, he moved slowly through the room, the two magnums firing almost constantly, until he had successfully hit all of the green circles, which turned a dark red immediately on impact, and stopped moving around the room.

As the last target flashed red and came to a stop, Ark punched the air triumphantly and marched back to the weapons table, replacing the magnums in their designated spot. The table slowly sank into the ground and the circles faded out of existence as F.I.L.S.S. informed Ark of his progress.

"I have detected a six per cent increase in accuracy from the beginning of the exercise to the end. Would you like me to run it again, or to run a different program?"

"No thanks, F.I.L.S.S.," Ark replied, noticing a blue clad figure waiting by the entrance to the training room, no doubt waiting on Ark to finish up so that he could make use of the facility. "I'll be back tomorrow, ok?"

He didn't wait to hear her reply, but instead left the room, taking his helmet off and smiling at the obviously impatient form of Agent Florida, who stood pacing back and forth in front of him, not yet having noticed that Ark had finished his training session. When he finally did, his face lit up, and he rushed up to Ark.

"Ark, great, you're finished! I didn't want to interrupt you, but I've just been itchin' to try out these new grenades I had F.I.L.S.S. order for me!"

Ark cocked his head, amused by the obvious excitement oozing out of the older man, but also intrigued by grenades Florida was holding in his hands, cradling them to his chest like a mother would with a baby. His shoulder wound had apparently been forgotten in his desire to test out the new equipment, and Ark was happy to see him up and about once more.

"Those are incendiaries, right?" Ark asked, vaguely recognising the shape and markings. "They look a lot like the Type-3 Antipersonnels that the Brutes use."

"I know!" Florida gushed, beaming from ear to ear. "They've just developed them! It's a hybrid technology, and should burn stronger and longer than any other field incendiaries that have been issued before!"

The freelancer in blue paused for a moment. "Wait, you know about explosives?"

Ark laughed, then nodded. "Yep, demolition and hacking, just about the only things I can do well. Pretty sure the only reason that the Director brought me in is so that there's a second guy who's able to figure out how to use a detonator."

Florida laughed back, his eyes crinkling at the sides. "I think I can see what you mean. Penn and Maine are great guys, if a bit cantankerous at times, but give either of 'em a button to press?! I'm pretty darn sure they'd break it."

Looking down at the other man, still cradling his explosives, Ark was suddenly struck by a thought. "Hey, Florida," he began, not quite sure if how to phrase his question. "You don't happen to be related to Georgia, do you?"

Florida just shook his head, his grin fading slightly. "Never knew the guy before the project, Ark. Trust me, if I had any family left, I wouldn't be letting 'em join the military. I'd keep them safe."

His good spirits diminished somewhat, he said goodbye to Ark and walked out into the training room. Within a few minutes a blazing fire was raging throughout the room. Ark just hoped that Florida had it all under control. He should have, at least, he was a freelancer after all. However, that was tempered somewhat by the fact that he was also Florida.

The rules of common sense didn't always apply.

Ark left and walked down the corridors of the _Mother of Invention_, not really going anywhere in particular, his shoulders slightly tensed as, at any moment, he expected to see Florida charge past him, on fire, screaming unintelligible syllables. Eventually the sound of music reached his ears, and he followed it, figuring that it couldn't be any worse than returning to his room.

It wasn't that he didn't enjoy Georgia's company, quite the opposite in fact, Georgia was probably the person that he got along best with in Project Freelancer. What Ark objected to was the speed in which their room had promptly been turned into a make-shift workshop, complete with all manners of saws, drills, and even a laser cutter! Ark thought it best not to inquire into how Georgia had got hold of these items, but if the MOI's engines failed, or life-support system shut down, he'd know who to blame.

He was drawing closer to the source of the music now, and was slightly surprised to enter one of the various lounge areas on the ship, where Maine had entered an intense argument with York over the music that was playing. Given by the rapping bursting out from the speakers, and given the fact that Maine had physically lifted York into the air by his shoulders, Ark was guessing that the big man was winning the argument.

"_Adrenaline filled like a kid named Ritalin_

_Gotta get away from this bullshit middleman_

_Pushed to the max no time to relax_

'_Cos if we ain't swift we facin' the axe."_

"I just don't see why we can't change the song. This is like the fourth time in a row that it's been played!" York argued, twisting feebly in Maine's grasp.

"They were different songs!" Maine replied, in that low throaty growl of his. Ark pulled closer and sat down next to North and South, who both glanced at him for a second before returning their eyes to the spectacle before them. After another second North passed the popcorn that he was holding over to Ark.

"Rap just all sounds the same to me!" York yelled, his feet flailing in the air as he tried to wriggle out of Maine's clutches. "Come on, let me choose the next song!"

From the far side of the room Cal whispered something to Mich, who laughed, and Cal looked up at York, crowing in amusement. "What do you propose York, smooth jazz, or something like that?"

York just gaped at him, his attention momentarily drawn away from the giant who was currently dangling him in the air. "W…what?!" he spluttered in shock. "How did you know?!"

With a bored sigh, Maine dropped him, and York slammed into the ground, cursing to himself as he got his breath back. As he slowly got to his feet, complaining that there was nothing wrong with smooth jazz, and that it was the highest form of art, Wyoming walked in, propping up a slightly blackened Florida, who waved to the assembled freelancers with a dazed grin.

"What happened to you?" South asked brusquely, her eyebrows raised.

Florida wobbled slightly and glanced around the room, his eyes not quite focusing on any one of the assembled freelancers in front of him. "Was just…testing out some new grenades. They were…more explosive than I had expected. Thankfully F.I.L.S.S. turned on the sprinklers…after a minute or two."

He plopped down on a nearby armchair, and Wyoming took the one next to him, his face looking slightly worried as he glanced at his friend, who had passed out in his seat the second he sat down. "Found him groaning on the floor, smoking slightly," he murmured, shaking his head in disbelief. "You'd think he'd have the sense to take care of himself after that last mission, but then it wouldn't be him, would it? Will probably have to put him back into the Recovery wing."

The freelancers seemed to reach the general consensus that someone should go find Massa, and York volunteered, muttering under his breath about "assholes that don't appreciate real music". However, after another of Maine's rap songs came blaring over the speakers, Florida's eyes popped open, and his eyes darted from side to side, looking for the source of the noise.

"What the hell is that racket?" he asked, and, from the corner of his eye, Ark could see Maine tense slightly, but Wyoming gave him a pointed glare and Maine settled down once more, evidently displeased. "Where's the controller? I'll show you kids some real music."

The room was united by a chorus of groaning as the younger freelancers wondered what fossil he'd bring up from the past, but none of them had the heart to refuse his request, not after the communal worry that had settled over them as he had lain in the medical bay, recovering from his bullet wound.

Maine bad-naturedly tossed over the remote, and Florida's eyes lit up as his fingers slowly flicked over the small screen, searching for the song that he wanted to show them. "Ah, here we go," he murmured, leaning back in his seat with a satisfied smiled, and the speakers burst into life once more as his song began to play.

Not recognising it, Ark glanced around at the other freelancers around him, and could tell that they didn't either. South just rolled her eyes and sat back, evidently bored already by the slow procession of the song, the as-yet unaccompanied guitar strings twanging mournfully. There was a moment when Ark began to tire, wondering why Florida had chosen this song out above all others, but then a man's voice began to sing, and he suddenly realised why.

The singer seemed to reach out to Ark, his voice filled with the pain that Ark felt every day, putting into words the emotions that Ark hadn't even been able to fully understand until now. The man sang about the futility of life, and the regret that he felt over the past, and as he sang something began to struggle within Ark's heart, and he looked down at the ground, ashamed of these emotions and afraid that the others would read them in his face.

When the song had finished, and the man's tired, raspy voice had come to a stop, the room was left in silence for a moment, before Ark suddenly stood up. "Thanks, Florida," he murmured quietly, then turned and left the room, not looking at any of the others as he left the room.

He made his way back to his own room, prepared to risk the dangers that accompanied living in the same quarters as the freelancer's own mad scientist, but to his surprise the room was empty when he got there, Georgia evidently having left to see if he could acquire more materials for his various projects. Ark sighed, and stripped out of his armour, putting it away in the locker next to his bed, and sat down on his mattress, his face in his hands, sighing heavily as he remembered the song that Florida had just played.

How was it that someone could understand the same pain that Ark felt when he woke up each morning, and realised that his dreams were just that, dreams, and that only in his sleep would he ever see his family again? In that song, something had changed inside Ark. No matter how much his past tore at him, he would always remember: He wasn't alone.

The door _whoosed _open behind him, and Georgia walked in, his hands laden with wires and electrical cord. "Hey, was wondering when you'd get back!" he cheerfully exclaimed, before noticing his roommates expression, his voice then taking on a worried tone. "Ark? You ok?"

Ark glanced up and forced a smile, sighing slightly. "I'm ok, it's just been a long day. Florida's probably going to be spending some more time in Recovery, just set himself on fire testing out some new grenades."

Georgia's face suddenly lit up. "Do you think they were any left?" he asked, his voice gushing with enthusiasm. Once again, Ark wondered how two guys so blatantly crazy could not be related, yet find themselves in the same part of the universe.

"I don't know," he answered honestly, but Georgia had already left, with faint speed-lines left in the air from his speedy exit.

Ark settled back into his bed, shaking his head in amusement. _'Never a dull moment,' _he thought to himself, before thinking back to the song once more, singing it quietly to himself.

"_I hurt myself today,_

_To see if I still feel,_

_I focus on the pain,_

_The only thing that's real."_


	56. Chapter 55: Watch and Learn

**(A/N) Hey all, it's time for our Monday update, and we've got another Virginia chapter for you! We've closed our forum for X-Ray and Vav submissions, but are still looking for writers for the sequel of this fic. We're looking for writers for any and all kinds of original freelancers, along with writers for Wyoming, Utah and C.T., so if you're interested and haven't applied yet, get going! ;) The clock is ticking, get on over to out forum!**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter Fifty-Five – Watch and Learn**

**Agent Virginia**

**Written by ann1795**

* * *

_"Agent Virginia's interaction with the other Freelancer agents is an...interesting subject to consider. She only talks when spoken to by the others, and rarely begins discussions herself. Her previous superiors reported somewhat similar findings. A pre-existing behaviour, possibly, or drawn on by fear of others?"_ – Extract from the Counselor's private log.

* * *

Virginia sat against the wall of the training room to ease the slight twinges in her back, revelling in the silence that greeted her ears. True, there were other noises from the ship as it continued its endless journey through space, which she felt through her socks. Still, it was the silence of being away from the other Freelancers that gave her peace and quiet to think. It gave her a chance to reflect on the newer agents and on the failure of the last mission.

Who was she kidding? The mission had been a complete and total bust. The Insurrectionist hit team had gotten away from them by a long shot, and they had the armour specs that turned the Freelancers' own abilities against them. Her back pulsed as an aching reminder of that disastrous Warthog chase. They had saved the life of the General, but nearly at the cost of Florida. Virginia had visited him twice during his recovery, and couldn't help but feeling twinges of guilt whenever she saw him on his cot in the recovery ward. The last think she truly wanted was the weight of a teammate's death on her soul. Well, except maybe Carolina...

She had breathed a small sigh of relief when Florida had been let out of the Recovery ward, but then the damn idiot had went and aggravated his injuries in the training room, testing out new equipment! Virginia only hoped that they'd be able to instil him with a little common sense before letting him out the next time…

As she rubbed a polishing cloth over the fiberglass of her bow and rubbed her back, Virginia's thoughts strayed to the freelancers that she had interacted with on the ship, especially the new ones. If she had to settle on one fact, it was that she would never get along with South Dakota. She got along better with Carolina than with the blonde agent, and that was saying something. Carolina wasn't intentionally mean, just competitive. South, on the other hand, seemed to want to pick a fight with anyone and everyone. Even in their initial meeting, South had been quite unpleasant. She wouldn't last long in Project Freelancer if she kept getting into fights, that was certain.

Her brother, North, on the other hand, seemed to be a jovial fellow, with a temperament comparable to Florida and York; always wanting to get along with everybody and for everyone to get along. Virginia figured that she could get along with him well, as well as Arkansas and Minnesota. Maine and Michigan, she would try her best. They wouldn't be the best of friends by any means, but Virginia had the feeling that she could depend on them in a fight. Georgia was an odd one, sure, but he wasn't so bad, either. He knew his way around machinery, at least.

California...well, there seemed to be a cocky something or other if ever she saw one. Was he ACTUALLY trying to pull the moves on her when they first met? Then that angry outburst right before their mission started up...in all honesty, it had startled her quite a bit. There was something about him that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up whenever she saw him, but she couldn't exactly put her finger on it.

Reflecting on the other Freelancers and how she wasn't especially close with any one of them caused a sense of loneliness to enter Virginia's heart. She hadn't been popular ever, by any means, but she did have those one or two special people near and dear to her. An image of a smiling young woman with blonde hair and a bright red streak of hair on the side of her face crossed Virginia's mind, and she shut her eyes tightly to block the image out while braiding her own strand of neon blue hair in two fingers. The first few words that she had managed to read of the letter she had received echoed in her head: _"My beloved sister..."_ Her sister was off somewhere having fun, and she certainly didn't need Virginia holding her back.

"Agent Virginia, the Director wishes you to report to the observation deck to monitor the simulation mission." F.I.L.S.S.'s voice crackled over the sound speaker. Virginia shook her head to clear her mind and slid back up the wall, bow in hand. She looked up to the Observation Deck above her. A solitary figure stood watching her. She caught a flash of glass lenses perched on his face.

"Does he want me in armour, F.I.L.S.S., or am I alright in fatigues?"

"Director Church wishes all the agents to become as acclimated and comfortable with the administered armour for long-term usage as possible. I would advise that you do so," the ship's AI responded. With a call of thanks to the AI, Virginia headed to the locker room, stowed her bow, and strapped on her armour with ease. She refrained from putting the helmet on, however, and simply tied her hair back into a tight bun on the back of her head and carried her helmet under her arm. She jogged to the lift that carried her up to the observation deck. Alaska was in the elevator as well. They exchanged nods and didn't speak at all.

"Agents, pay close attention to the simulation mission on the monitors," the Director motioned to the monitors that would be showing video from the armours' built-in cameras. Virginia took her place at the end of the line next to Massa, who gave her a small smile. York waved from the spot next to her, and Carolina elbowed him in the ribs. Alaska took his place on the other end between Wyoming and Penn. Florida was the only one absent, still in the Recovery ward.

"You will be able to hear the radio transmissions between Team A and Team B for this simulation mission, but they will not be able to hear you," the Counsellor advised the Freelancers standing at attention. "This opportunity is being provided so that you may be able to learn from your fellow freelancers' abilities and cooperate with them on future missions."

"You mean to knock them off the leaderboard when we want," Pennsylvania rumbled, and everyone turned to look at him.

"Not an impossibility," the Counsellor conceded. The Director came to the forefront again.

"The crop of new freelancers have been divided into two teams for this simulation mission into Wasteland. Team A, led by Agent North Dakota, comprises of South Dakota, Arkansas, and Georgia. Team B, led by California, includes Minnesota, Michigan, and Maine. They will be directed to two bases, Red and Blue respectively. Each base contains one large bunker and two smaller bunkers on each side. The objective is to clean out the three bunkers first."

"That's it?" Penn asked.

"Yes, Agent Pennsylvania. That task will be difficult enough and is a suitable means to test their skills. The drop ships have just landed." All eyes turned to look at the four screens presented to them: one came from North's armour camera, another from Cal's, and two from orbiting satellites monitoring each team in general.

The teams started communicating between each other, formulating different strategies for clearing out the bases the quickest. Team B would split up, have two people take the largest bunker, and one each for the two smaller ones. Team A would travel as one group and hit each base together.

"Team B's strategy is the weakest of the two," Penn declared. "They'll be breaking up when they have no idea of the forces that they'll be facing. If one of them goes down, then their mission fails because they abandon their objectives to help one fallen teammate."

"I disagree," Carolina objected. "Team A's strategy is weaker because they're taking more time to clear out the bunkers and giving the simulation troopers plenty of warning to regroup and attack en masse."

The Director nodded slightly at the criticism. "What would you have done instead?" he addressed the team in general. There was a moment as everyone thought.

"What about if the teams divided in half and attacked the two smaller bunkers, then convened and attacked the larger base?" Virginia asked. Carolina sent her a scathing look.

"Interesting observation, Virginia," the Counsellor muttered, typing something into his hand-held pad. A small part of Virginia wished that she had kept her mouth shut. By the look on Carolina's face, she was thinking the same thing.

The mission continued to progress as the two teams implemented their strategies and either divided or began traveling as a group. Team A's progression was significantly slower than that of Team B's, and were still traveling across the God-forsaken desert when Team B's small strike teams of Minnesota and Maine had started attacking the small concrete bunkers. However, the single Freelancers were having some difficulty trying to eliminate the Red-armoured soldiers in the bunkers with their laser-calibrated weapons while avoiding the live ammunition from their targets.

Virginia couldn't help but wince slightly as Minnesota narrowly avoided getting hit in the shoulder by enemy fire and Maine bodily threw a Red soldier that had made the unfortunate mistake of getting too close. She certainly wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of his anger. Even at the larger bunker, California and Michigan were not progressing well, and the frustration coming from California was nearly palpable.

Team A's progression was actually speeding up, though they were facing their own troubles. North Dakota was a competent leader, that was for sure, but trying to work with such strong-willed people was going to give him grey hair before the mission was done. South was being insistent that they attack the largest bunker first and worry about any stragglers later, Arkansas was arguing that they attack the smaller bases first, and Georgia was trying to see if they could use a technological (aka explosive) approach. Virginia was tempted to pinch the bridge of her nose as she listened to the radio chatter from Team A, but withheld her urge in favour of rubbing her back again. Massa gave her an inquisitive glance, but Virginia shook her head. No need to worry her roommate, though the concern was appreciated.

The exercise continued as expected, actually. For the slower strategy that they took, Team A's execution was superior. The two smaller bunkers were quickly cleaned out, with the few stragglers taking refuge in the largest concrete bunker. The Blue soldiers didn't stand a chance against the combined might of the Team A Freelancers. They were already calling down their Pelican for pickup when Team B finally managed to clear out their three bunkers of Red simulation soldiers.

The Director signalled for the after-mission radio talk to be cut, and turned to the Freelancers standing behind him. "You have all witnessed the styles of your new teammates. Regardless of rank, you will be working with them on missions in the future. It is imperative that you know not only what you will be encountering, but who they are. A lesson that you should have kept in mind after your previous debacle." He gave them all a hard glare, and Virginia was not the only one who kept a slightly downturned gaze from the Director. "I hope you have learned from watching your new teammates. Let it serve as a reminder that failure is intolerable in war. You are dismissed."

"Yes, sir!" they chorused as one, and left in a single file line. After they exited, they dispersed into a messy huddle, walking as one down the hallway.

"Well, they'll be an interesting bunch to work with," York said after a few moments of silence. "They have potential."

"Hmph. We'll see," Carolina snorted. "Let's not be too optimistic."

"As long as they know their place on the Leaderboard," Penn mused as well.

"I think they'll be great assets to the project," Massa finally said, joining York's positive attitude. "It'll be great to see what new stuff they have to add. I hope we can get along with them well."

"I'll work with them, but we're not going to be all buddy-buddy, if that's what you're implying," Alaska mumbled, with Wyoming muttering something in agreement.

"You're right though, Massa. It'll be interesting to see what they have to contribute in terms of strategy and such," Carolina offered neutrally. "Give another option to some of the stale ones around." She gave a pointed glance at Virginia.

At that, Virginia stopped at the junction in the hallway that they had come to and whipped around to face Carolina. The corners of her vision were turning the slightest shade of red, and she felt her fists clenching at her sides unconsciously.

"What is UP with you, Carolina?" Virginia snarled at the aqua-armoured agent. "I get that you don't like me, and I'm not asking you to."

"You undermined the rest of us in front of the Director with your fancy strategy and made the team look bad," Carolina growled in return, her green eyes fiery. "I took a blow for the team when I reported to the Director about the mission, but I won't let you take advantage of the opportunity again and again to shake me from my place."

"Ladies, there's no need for this-" York tried to say, but Virginia jumped in.

"Would you GIVE IT A REST?! I don't want your spot, and the Director was asking for anyone's input, including mine. Just because you're the leader doesn't mean that you can just be the voice for all of us, Carolina. Deflate your ego a bit, why don't you?" Virginia hissed, before shoving past Carolina into the other hallway, away from the rest of the team. "I'll see you later. Gonna go check up on Florida." Without a backwards glance to see if anyone was following her, she walked quickly towards the recovery ward, breathing deeply to shake the crimson haze at the edge of her vision.

After she knew that she was a safe distance away and within sight of the room where Florida was staying, Virginia slid down a wall and to her knees, ignoring the stress to her back injury. She took several shaky breaths, shaking her head to regain control of her wayward emotions. She hadn't felt such anger in a long time, and it made her feel almost nauseous. At first, she hadn't thought it worth it to fight Carolina because they were supposed to work as a team. Now, Virginia's doubts about the usefulness of a fight with Carolina were waning considerably.

Determined to push the matter from her mind, Virginia stood up again and tried to think of something else. She remembered that she had said she was going to see Florida, and it wouldn't do to back out on her promise. She stumbled slightly to the door and let it slide open.

The grey-haired Florida sat up in bed, and he didn't wince this time. He must be feeling better, Virginia thought. He gave a cheerful greeting and motioned to a chair beside his bed. She took it graciously and gave one of her rare smiles. "How're you feeling, Florida?" she asked.

"Peachy keen, thanks," Florida responded with a chipper voice and a toothy smile. Virginia's own smile widened from his cheerfulness. "I can't wait to get out of here and back in the action. So, what did I miss with the Director's meeting?"

Virginia thought for a moment, wanting to tell someone else about her argument with Carolina, the trouble between herself and the Freelancer team leader. However, she didn't want to put a damper on Florida's mood at all, and pushed her concerns to the back of her mind. "Well, we will have some interesting teammates for the Project...and I think they'll have a lot to offer. The simulation mission gave us a lot to watch and experience..."


	57. Chapter 56: Catalyst

**(A/N) Ok guys, it's time for our Wednesday update! Another sensational South chapter is up, courtesy of the incredible Lili-Hunter. As before, we're still looking for writers for C.T., Wyoming and Utah in our sequel, along with any OC Freelancers that you wish to apply, so if you want to take part in this collaboration, what are you waiting for?!**

**As always, enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter Fifty-Six – Catalyst**

**Agent South Dakota**

**Written by Lili-Hunter**

* * *

_"We all want to be the best at something. Trouble is, some people are only the best at being second best." _– Jarod Kintz

* * *

Blue light filtered through the air, spreading its artificial radiance across the room. If South had glanced to either side, she may have seen its dull reflection glinting from the polished metal encasing her colleagues.

Murmurs of confusion wrapped around her, passed from the lips of her colleagues as they shifted uncomfortably. But the purple and green freelancer was still, her head tilted upward as she stared, disbelieving, at the glowing screen. Her hands were clenched into fists at her sides.

_1. Carolina._

_2. Pennsylvania_

_3. New York_

_4. Wyoming_

_5. Virginia_

_6. Alaska_

"Um, sir? Where are the rest of our names?" Georgia, clad in his usual green armour, spoke up tentatively. South's gaze fell on him for a moment, before passing to the Director. His lips pouted slightly as he considered his answer, and the uncertainty curling in her chest flashed momentarily to anger at the pause.

"From now on, the leaderboard will be restricted to the top six Agents only. The rest of you may view the complete list from the boards in the cafeteria, or the mess halls. Alternatively, they are also available on your personal data-pads," the Director drawled. From behind his right shoulder, the Counselor tightened his grip on the pad between his fingers – as though he feared the Agents would attempt to rip it from him to check their ranking then and there.

Though, from the scowl twisting Agent Maine's face, it was probably more likely than she'd guessed. The Agents hesitated, in case there was more information headed their way. But the Director smirked slightly, and inclined his head. "You may do so now. Agents, you are dismissed."

"Let's go," South hissed in an aside to her brother, before spinning on her heel and stomping free of the crowded room. Several of the other Freelancers attempted to push past her as they left the room, but South shoved them back with sudden, thoughtless anger.

North spoke up from her side. "Don't worry, I'm sure we did fine." He bumped her shoulder, as though intending to be reassuring. It didn't work, and the heat in her chest curled into thick, condensed coils. "Besides, they've been here a lot longer than we have. We'll climb up there soon."

His words were intended to drain the anger swelling in her chest, but they only served to add to her uncertainty. Sure, the other Freelancers _had _been here longer, but that would always be true – for as long as they stayed in the Program. When she replied, her voice was tight – tenser and more curt than she had intended it to be. "Whatever, North."

She felt the weight of his gaze as he glanced quickly at her. South kept her gaze straightforward. It was a short walk through the _Mother of Invention_ to the mess hall, and South fell back in the crowd slightly to keep by North's side. He had paused to talk to York.

"Hey," her brother began easily, smiling. "Good job, man. You too, Carolina."

York laughed, and South's gaze flickered to the Freelancer at his side. Carolina's helmet inclined slightly at North's praise. South felt the coils in her gut twist, and stared at the aquamarine – teal, sea green, whatever – Freelancer with a new kind of loathing.

However, York's words snapped her out of the twisted mess of emotions, and South realized that the ugliness in her thoughts was simple jealousy. _What the hell?_ As though she had reason to be jealous of Carolina, besides the big fat number one sitting next to her name.

The Freelancer was still watching her. South's eyes narrowed, and an image of her shoving Carolina into the wall trailed tantalizingly through her mind. _Should teach her to mind her own goddamn business. _She smirked. North finally seemed to notice the tension between the two women, and glanced across their locked gazes. His hand bumped subtly into South's side, guessing her traitorous thoughts, in an attempt to dissuade her from violence.

What? North was protecting _her_ now?

Whatever. South shot her a final, hate-filled glare before looking forward. Her heart pounded, not from fear but from the anger directed at both Carolina and herself. Jealousy sat thickly in the pit of her stomach, despite South's attempts to brush it off.

Carolina would be jealous of South soon enough. She would make sure of it.

"Yeah, well," the tan Freelancer grinned, "I'm sure you guys did well. I heard about what happened in the sim missions. Pretty impressive."

North chuckled, and replied. But his words were lost on South as she saw they were drawing near to the mess hall. The Freelancers bunched together, each struggling to reach the doorway first.

South strained forward, shoving the green and brown Massa out of her way. The Agent glanced at her reproachfully, but she was already left behind. She heard North call after her, but the tight, hot ball sitting in the pit of her stomach clenched, and she moved forward without her twin.

South had always been taller than most other girls, and her height lent her an advantage as she shoved the crowd aside. A few moments later and South was striding across the empty mess hall, intent on the glowing screen imposed on the far wall. Maine, the hulking white Freelancer, matched her every stride.

_1. Carolina_

_2. Pennsylvania_

_3. New York_

_4. Wyoming_

_5. Virginia_

_6. Alaska_

_7. Massachusetts_

_8. Florida_

_9. North Dakota_

_10. South Dakota_

_11. Maine_

_12. Arkansas_

_13. Georgia_

_14. California_

_15. Michigan_

_16. Minnesota_

Tenth? _Tenth?_ She was ranked _tenth?!_

"South!" She heard the slap of metal boots on the mess hall floor as her brother joined her side. "What'd we – hey! We came ninth and tenth!" He let out a quick, relieved breath and laughed. "That's pretty good, wouldn't you – uh, South, where are you going-"

That tight, heated ball in her stomach pounded, sending almost painful waves of anger threading through her core. The best that could be said was that she had made it into the top ten – but even that wasn't reassuring, considering she had only had to beat six other Freelancers for the place.

But _tenth?_ South hadn't even made it into the upper half. Her teeth clenched together so tightly it sent spikes of pain into her gums as her lips curled into a snarl.

South didn't know where she was going. Only that she just had to _go_ – before she broke someone's jaw.

"Poor rookies." A low laugh came from somewhere to South's right. She froze, her hand on the doorframe, as her eyes narrowed. Was that… _pity? _"Don't know what to do with themselves. You'd think they'd be less surprised about their rankings," Alaska added.

"I suppose," another, female, voice agreed. She recognized Virginia. Immediately, images flashed in her mind:

_5. Virginia_

_6. Alaska_

"None of them have particularly stood out so far – a rather unremarkable group. Except for – hmmm, what were they called? – California, and the purple one. Ah, yes. South Dakota."

"What do you mean?" Virginia asked.

"But for all the wrong reasons. California is most likely suffering from several conditions and disorders. It's quite obvious, to the professional eye." Virginia made a small noise, and Alaska continued. "South Dakota is a difficult one to get a grasp on. Obviously, it's quite a mess up there."

South pivoted slowly on her right heel, just in time to catch Alaska tapping at his helmet with one finger. Her body shook with mindless fury. "I'd say her twin has quite the job, trying to keep someone with that many problems under control. It's quite obvious that her anger issues are the _least_ of our dear South Dakota's problems-"

South's heart rose, beating a rising, primal rage deep inside that choked her throat with its pure fury. She was too far gone to even notice that the room had gone still. Not a single breath was taken, as they watched in shock. Virginia and Alaska, too deep in their conversation to see the obvious tension, continued talking.

Virginia looked distinctly uncomfortable with Al's words, and shook her head. "No," she disagreed. Al tipped his head to one side, and South was familiar enough with the asshole to know he was raising an eyebrow at her words. "It's not that. California and South are fine. Mentally. They wouldn't be here, if they weren't."

Alaska seemed a little taken aback, and Virginia took advantage of his silence. "They're both stubborn and hard-headed. Neither of them are willing to work as a team. That's all."

Was Virginia... _defending her?_ Well, she could cram those words back down her throat. South didn't need her help.

"Why, Virginia," Alaska finally commented, "there seems to be hope for you yet."

Confused, Virginia forced a laugh. Inside South's gut, the coils turned to snakes that writhed in building, uncontrollable anger. South had clearly overestimated the current number five. She was weak - too weak to stand up outright against Alaska, or too weak to state her agreement with those they spoke of in the near vicinity. South's lip curled in savage contempt.

Oh, South was gonna show her. Virginia would know just how hard it was to laugh with her teeth knocked down her throat.

Virginia continued, unaware of just how close South was to snapping. "They're trying so hard, but it's obvious the Director knows who the _best_ Freelancers are."

Like the spark before the flame, South's control fled - replaced instantly by white, searing anger. The fury flashed to her mind, red spots sweeping across her vision as she strode forward. South was twistedly grateful for the extra strength her purple armour lent her, as she shoved Virginia from behind. The smaller Freelancer stumbled, raising her hands as she twirled to face her opponent.

After a moment, another Freelancer unexpectedly joined South. She glanced to the side, expecting to see her twin by her side – but no, it was the other one Alaska had oh-so-kindly remarked upon, Agent California.

"What the hell, South!" Virginia straightened herself, indignant. She glanced at Alaska, hiding the guilt in her gaze.

South was enraged. Alaska could presume all he wanted to about her – South wouldn't give a flying fuck. He was _wrong_. But Virginia – oh, she dearly wanted to snap that little brat's neck. She could let Virginia bitch about her - South wasn't _stubborn_. She was just _right_. And unwilling to work as a team? More like unwilling to work with a bunch of stupid, fumbling idiots that didn't know one side of a war from the other - all day, but damn if she was going to stand there and _listen_, without taking her ego down a few notches afterwards.

But _ha_! _Virginia_ thought she was the _best_? Yeah, well, South was going to kick her self-important little ass into the middle of the next century.

"Think you're the best, do you, Virginia?" California growled, echoing South's thoughts. He had Alaska by the throat – but now, he shoved him away and turned his fury on the smaller Freelancer. Virginia's gaze danced between the pair, and South could almost feel her fear.

And _oh_, it felt good.

"I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but you're only fifth," he continued. "That's a hell of a long way from first."

"Fifth place is a hell of a lot better than fourteenth," Virginia snapped, fire flaring in her gaze as she responded to the insult. "Or tenth."

"At least _tenth place_ didn't get a team member almost killed," South snarled. She took a few steps to the left, circling around the pair and dividing their attention.

"What's that supposed to mean? As though _you_ could have done better." Virginia growled. Alaska remained quiet, observing the exchange.

South's lip curled. "You know exactly what it means. How's Florida, huh?" Virginia flushed, and opened her mouth to speak. But South bulldozed right over her. "Oh, I know! He's recovering from a _bullet_. And why is that, exactly? Oh yeah! _Because his team failed._ You," she declared, shoving Virginia's chest, "couldn't do your goddamn job!"

"The mission was a success," Alaska pointed out, cocking his head to one side.

"Er, guys?" Florida's passive voice made an attempt to intrude. "I'm right here-"

"Oh yeah, _real_ successful," California sneered, ignoring the blue Freelancer entirely. South laughed cruelly.

There was a sudden weight on her shoulder, and she pivoted, automatically shoving the offender away. North stumbled beneath her furious strength, but started to speak; "South, this isn't-"

"Shut the _hell_ up!" she snarled. Her hands clenched, trembling with the want – no, the _need_ – to break someone's nose. Or jaw. Or… neck. "Piss off," she growled. For some bizarre reason she couldn't place at the moment, she didn't want him to see this.

North's intervention had halted South before - stopped her the moment before she lashed out at Carolina. But oh, no. Not this time. South could feel the anger rippling through her core and limbs with abandon, and she was deeply, blindingly, _twistedly_ in love with it.

His eyes darkened, but her twin stepped back. York patted him on the back sympathetically.

Carolina watched her, arms crossed over her chest, from York's side. South looked away.

A new voice broke out from the crowd. "Come now, chaps, this isn't very pleasant business. Save the violence for the training room floor, eh?" Wyoming chuckled.

To her surprise, California paused. But then he glanced at her, and she understood in an instant. "Great idea," he mused. For a moment, he seemed to turn his back – and then, with a solid crack that echoed in the mess hall, his fist landed in the center of Alaska's visor.

The red Freelancer reeled, taking a few steps to steady himself. Virginia had let out a gasp, but South felt dark satisfaction spread itself through her limbs as she laughed. "You, me," California snarled. "Training room. _Now._"

Alaska was unfazed by the challenge. "Our weapons?"

California tipped his head, considering. "Knives."

Alaska nodded, and South's gaze flickered to the woman by his side. Virginia returned the stare with expected defiance. South took a step forward, and despite her show of confidence, Virginia flinched.

Inside her mind, South snorted with laughter. "We'll use guns," she growled. "Paint rounds."

Virginia nodded, watching the purple-and-green freelancer warily. South rolled her eyes – she wasn't going to hit her.

Not yet, anyway. South was going to wait until the fight, until she could be assured no one was going to stop her from beating Virginia black and blue – to the point where the stuck-up Freelancer matched her hair.

York coughed, awkwardly trying to break the silence. "Well, now that that's over, we can-"

"Carolina."

South's head snapped to the side. A lone agent walked forward, brushing past several others until he stood in the circle the other Freelancers had cleared during the confrontation. Arkansas crossed his arms, and looked at the number one Freelancer with a steady gaze. "I want to fight Carolina. Hand-to-hand combat, in the training room."

Silence met his request. At first South wanted to laugh at the mere ridiculousness of the idea that he – currently ranked number twelve – would challenge the aquamarine leader. And Arkansas, especially – South hadn't taken him for a hot-headed idiot, despite his earlier scrap with California. But whatever. Looks could be deceiving, she guessed. But then Carolina spoke.

"I accept."

Small murmurs of conversation broke out, and South was not the only one to watch as Carolina stepped back, spinning on her heel and walking smoothly through the open doors. A few moments later and York followed, accompanied by her brother.

South stood still, only her eyes moving as she followed his purple back as it disappeared through the doors. Air escaped her in a quiet _whoosh_, and South suddenly just felt empty.

No, no. Not empty. But she accepted the word anyway, rebelling against the alternative – _betrayed._

_What, he couldn't even stick around long enough to wish her good luck?_

South shut the thought down almost immediately, but not quite quick enough. Abruptly, she turned around.

"See you in the ring," California was growling sarcastically to a relaxed Alaska.

"I dare say you will," the freelancer replied.

Virginia moved towards the doors, shoving South's shoulder as she passed. South shoved back, despite the pettiness of the move. "Good luck," Virginia snorted.

"I don't need it," South replied, eyes narrowed.

"You better hope so," the dark green Freelancer called over her shoulder.

South and California were alone, each caught up in their anger. After a moment, he glanced at her, and South returned it with a glare. She studied him for a few moments before snapping, "What the hell are you staring at?"

California snorted, clenching and unclenching his fists. He stormed out of the room, no doubt headed to the training room floor. South hesitated before following, and glanced over her shoulder, gaze automatically falling to her name.

_10. South Dakota_

Holding in the disappointed flash of anger – as though, somehow, she had expected the ranking to change - South Dakota left the room.


	58. Chapter 57: Ass-Kicking 101

**(A/N) Hey everyone, time for our weekly Saturday update! And it's an Alaska chapter! Now who's wondering how these fights turn out? Well read on!**

**We'll be shutting up shop for applications for the sequel soon, so if you're interested, move your asses and apply! Or at least message me and tell me you're going to!**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter Fifty-Seven – Ass-Kicking 101**

**Agent Alaska**

**Written by Avalanche Wolf**

* * *

"_It's fine to celebrate success, but it is more important to heed the lessons of failure."_ - Bill Gates

* * *

"Please, you don't have to do this."

Alaska was tired of hearing it. Ever since he accepted the challenge from that new guy, what was his name? California? Something like that. Ever since he accepted the challenge, Moi was trying to convince him to back out. Moi was always concerned for him, but this time, he was getting annoyed. Her auburn hair was back in a ponytail, with some bangs on the side. Her silver eyes were worried and scared for him. He was having enough of this.

"It is done Moi. I will set him in his place. No amount of talking will change my mind."

Moi moved ahead of him and placed her hand on his chest, stopping him. "But at what cost? Is it worth you losing your very integrity to do it?"

Alaska looked at her, his eyes steely. "Moi, get out of my way."

"There are other ways to deal with this. Better ways to handle this kind of thing."

"Moi. Move." His patience was beginning to wear thin.

"You don't need to do this. I think that if you just..."

A loud slap.

Moi fell to the floor. Alaska glared down at her as she looked up at him, her elegant hand on her now cherry red cheek. "I have no time to listen to your excuses. I am going to do this. If you don't like it, then leave!"

He walked around her and she spoke softly. "If this is how you want to fall, then may you feel bliss before you hit the ground."

Alaska glanced back and saw nothing. He then started to continue his way to the training room, shaking slightly with barely controlled anger. He walked in and saw Carolina and Virginia waiting for him. He bowed to them deeply. "Greetings, lovely ladies of war. I trust that Hera and Athena are ready to do battle alongside Hades?"

Carolina leaned back and crossed her arms. "The sentiment is nice, but not wanted, Alaska. This is serious training."

Before he could talk, the others came in. The rookies were leading the way with his fellow 'Firsts' behind them. York walked ahead and placed his hand on Alaska's shoulder. "Try not to beat them up too bad, buddy."

Wyoming moved past them as well and looked back at the rookies, a look of regret on his face. "Good luck chaps. You're going to need it more than anything. Especially against these three."

Carolina turned to the window of the training room and pressed a button. "F.I.L.S.S., prep the training room for exercises."

F.I.L.S.S. spoke out, her artificial voice ringing out through the room. "Training room ready. Please state the training requested."

Alaska made his way up to the door. "Knife combat for two." The door opened and Alaska walked through, glancing back at California.

"Walk to the grave, rook."

He continued down to the training room and grabbed one of the knives that were ready for them. The knives weren't dangerous at all. Barely an edge and their points had been rounded off.

F.I.L.S.S. explained the rules as Alaska and California walked onto the training floor. "This will be a simulated knife fight. No pillars will be activated. Kill attacks will only result in a point. The best out of five points will be victorious. Round one, begin."

California dropped into a ready stance, holding the knife backwards and up. Alaska sighed and shook his head and he twirled the knife in his hand. "Your stance is all wrong. You're all rigid and stiff. The knife should flow. It should glide easily."

California charged ahead to strike, but Alaska sidestepped, grabbed his arm, and brought his own knife against his neck. "You see? It should flow."

F.I.L.S.S. spoke out as he pushed California away. "Point one awarded to Alaska."

California turned and got ready to fight again. "I'm not losing to you, old crab!"

Alaska twirled the knife again and held it ready again. "You're nothing but small fry. It will all be too easy."

Alaska ran forward and slashed at California. His charge was blocked and California tried to counter, only to have his hand grabbed and stopped. Alaska used his strength to headbutt California hard, sending the younger freelancer reeling. He pushed ahead and delivered a deadly blow to the stomach.

"Point two awarded to Alaska."

Alaska pushed California away and tossed his knife in the air, catching it with ease. "It's all too easy."

California paused this time, apparently attempting to control his anger, and weighed up his options for a moment, before launching into attack, this time slipping down under Alaska's attack and going right under his arm where the armor didn't cover. He then swept his leg around and knocked him down, pulling the knife across his throat. "Point three awarded to California."

Alaska stood back up and dusted himself off. "Not bad, it's been a long time since I had a decent fight. But it's time to end this."

California ran ahead and was aiming for Alaska's chest, but at the last moment Alaska grabbed his wrist and spun him around, kicking him away from his back. Alaska brought his knife down on California's back, but he was caught and twisted around, faster than he would have believed possible. California brought his knife to Alaska's throat and slashed again, drawing the scores level.

"Point four awarded to California," California spoke with a smirk in his voice. "Looks like the old dog ran out of tricks."

Alaska got up and rolled his neck. "I'm warmed up. Now, I can start reaching for my bag of tricks."

California charged again, slashing furiously, his blade almost making contact with Alaska's torso, but his had was caught and crushed just before the contact was made, forcing him to drop his knife. Alaska reached back and punched him in the face, maybe harder than he should have. California flew back and landed on the floor. Alaska calmly walked up and placed the tip of the knife on his chest.

"Point five awarded to Alaska. Round complete. Winner: Agent Alaska."

Medics ran in, pulling California onto a stretcher and taking him out of the training room, leaving Alaska with the last word. "Don't worry buddy. You'll be able to win when the sun turns to dust."

Alaska walked back up to the observation room, only to see Michigan being held back by the other rooks.

"You son of a bitch! I'm gonna kick your fucking ass!"

Michigan was mad. Obviously, California was a friend.

Alaska shrugged. "You'll get your chance buddy."

He walked over to the console and looked out as Carolina got the next program ready. "F.I.L.S.S., next training match consists of weapons training."

F.I.L.S.S. opened up some weapons stations as Virginia and South walked into the training room. Alaska watched as South chose a battle rifle and magnum against Virginia's sniper rifle and magnum. A horrible combination, in his opinion.

"Seven minutes."

The one called North turned and looked at Alaska. "What are you talking about?"

Alaska crossed his arms. "That's how long it's gonna take for Virginia to win this round."

Arkansas glanced at him. "How can you be so sure Virginia is going to win?"

Alaska kept his eyes out on the two. "Because I've seen what Virginia can do. She'd rather die than lose."

F.I.L.S.S. spoke out as several pillars started to rise from the floor in a random order. "This will be a simulated gun fight. Paint rounds will be used. Pillars will be activated in a random order. The first to fully lock their opponent will win. Round one, begin."

As soon as the pillars finished rising, South drew her battle rifle and fired a burst at Virginia. She was fast, Alaska had to admit that was true, but sadly, Virginia was faster and far deadlier.

Virginia turned to the left and ran behind a pillar, the rounds hitting the wall behind her. South moved up and aimed down where Virginia ran off to. Alaska smiled a bit as he watched.

She was playing with South.

Alaska looked over the layout of the training room. Several of the pillars formed a high area. Virginia would be going there. But not now. She would confuse the rook. Make her second guess. Jump at shadows. Then Virginia would have her. And that is what she did. From time to time, Virginia would appear and shoot South with her magnum.

South managed to land a couple hits. An arm and a leg hit. But it didn't worry Alaska. Virginia only needed one arm to kill twenty guys before she went down. South soon found Virginia on the high pillars. She ran up and got ready to shoot, only to have just a sniper rifle waiting.

The move was smooth and flawless, it was like liquid. Virginia rolled from behind a pillar, firing paint rounds and covering South is the nasty pink armour lock paint. With the same style and grace as Alaska had, she walked up behind South and shot her in the head. Virginia tossed the weapon aside and walked out of the room as technicians ran in and managed to get South out. It was going to take them weeks to get all the lock paint off her armour.

"Round complete. Winner: Agent Virginia." Alaska let himself feel some satisfaction as he heard the rooks talking. There were now nervous. Alaska knew what they were capable of.

They were "First's".

The first at everything. The top pick. The rooks were just training dummies.

Carolina rolled her neck and walked out to the training floor with Arkansas. Alaska shook his head. "Poor kid. He'll be lucky to walk."

F.I.L.S.S lowered the pillars as Carolina and Arkansas took their places. "This will be a hand to hand simulation. No unauthorized moves will be allowed. The first combatant who is unable to continue to fight will lose. Round one, begin."

Arkansas was a patient one. He waited for Carolina to make the first move, for her to charge ahead and attack. But Ark managed to block and counter, despite the flurry of blows Carolina was landing on him. She spun around and swept her leg, knocking him to the ground. He managed to roll and recover, taking a few steps back from Carolina. Alaska watched on. "He's going to lose."

Carolina waited. She could wait forever if she wanted. Arkansas finally took a chance and attacked. This time, Carolina grabbed his arm and gave a hard twist. Even with the re-enforced glass, everyone in the observation room heard the loud popping sound. Carolina punched him in the head hard and kicked him away. He struggled to get up, but it was obvious he was beaten.

Some of the other rooks ran down to help their fellow rook as medics came in. Alaska looked at Carolina as she came back into the observation room. "Looks like the rooks will know their place."

Carolina walked past him and to the door. "It wasn't about teaching them a lesson. It was about helping them get ready to go to war."

Alaska watched as she left. He looked over at the training room and saw Moi in the observation room. She spoke as a single tear fell from her eye, her body slowly disappearing. "What's done is done, and cannot be undone."


	59. Chapter 58: Listen Up, Kids

**(A/N) Hey guys, sorry about the late update, had some problems getting online last night. Of course, that gives me the perfect opportunity to tell you all to go watch RvB Season 11 Episode 3. Seriously, if you haven't seen it yet, get your ass in gear!**

**As before, the applications for Phase Two will be shutting down shortly. Please, take this as a warning. Get your applications in if you're interested, don't leave it to the last minute!**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter Fifty-Eight - Listen Up, Kids**

**Killian Jay – Private First Class, Medic**

**Written by Casaric**

* * *

"_When a man goes through six years medical training to be a doctor he will never be the same. He knows too much." - Enid Bagnold._

* * *

_Crack!_

"Fuck! Do you know what you're doing?" a petulant voice asked, strained due to the speaker's obvious pain.

"This would be so much easier if you stopped fucking moving!" A different voice, the speaker coming to the end of his patience with the first voice, sighing heavily as he finished his sentence.

"I'm not!"

"Yes, yes you are. See! Right there, you just moved your arm!" Outright indignation.

"How can I? You're the one grabbing it!"

"Look, just let me..."

_Crack!_

"Son of a-!" the first voice began, catching himself just in time.

"See? All better. That wasn't so hard, now was it?" Sarcastic and mildly sadistic pleasure was laced throughout the comment.

Killian stood back from the newly inducted freelancer agent to examine his work. Agent Arkansas had managed to dislocate his arm while fighting with Carolina, and it was his job to fix him up. He never really was the best at realigning bones. However, despite a few minor setbacks, he did manage to get the bones back where they should be. Few in this case, meaning many, minor meaning painful, and setbacks meaning complete and utter failures.

Killian smiled. The bone was finally where it should be.

"Try moving it."

The Freelancer nodded and began rotating his arm in a three-hundred-sixty degree motion. A lack of popping sounds or loud grinding noises made Killian sigh in relief. One down, two to go.

The medic turned to glance at the other two Freelancers lying down on operating tables adjacent to Arkansas's. "I watched your fights. For as new as you all are, you did pretty well. I might even be impressed if you all didn't get hospitalized."

All three agents turned to glare at the medic.

"Just trying to make conversation." Killian said in reply, beginning to inspect California's wounds.

"We're not here to impress you, medic." California muttered.

"...hmm. The training knives didn't lacerate your skin and muscle tissues so much as it bruised it. A few minor cuts, but those are negligible...," Killian mumbled to himself before returning to the conversation.

"First of all, Medic, Private First Class. And yeah, you're not. I'm just the guy who makes sure you don't end up bleeding-out on the battlefield." A shiver racked its way down Killian's spine as he was reminded of how close a call it was with Massa...

"Right." Lack of interest was all too apparent in California's tone. He didn't approve.

Killian sighed. "Wrong. If you have good relations with someone, then they're more likely to help you out in a pinch."

"...You're a doctor. It's your-" South began to point out.

"It's my job. Yeah. That doesn't mean I don't get pissed off and make 'mistakes' when people like you get dragged in here, bleeding all over the place and making me work extra hours. The less of you I see in here, the happier both parties involved will be."

The freelancers didn't bother to respond, waiting for the medic to continue with his work.

"And look, you're new...," Killian continued, pulling out a syringe and filling it with a florescent red substance. "So I guess I can give you some advice, just to get you into the mindset of how things work here." He then proceeded to inject the chemical into California, the heavy bruising and scarring healing back to a healthy state.

"And that would be...?" Arkansas asked from his table, his voice containing an almost unnoticeable trace of genuine interest, but Killian was good at picking up on such things,.

Killian repeated the process on South, watching as the bruising caused by the paintball rounds faded away. "First of all, don't bother me. And if you do bother me, you better be damn near dead. Second, those agents you fought have been trained to kill people like you. Unless you want to end up in here again, don't fuck with them. Third, the board means everything. Ranking means everything. If your rank sucks, well, you suck. Any questions?"

"..." The three freelancers in the room just stared at him.

"Okay then, moving on. Alaska's crazy and Penn has penchant for excess amount of violence. I try not to spend too much time with either of them. You can count on York to bring something that will boost morale, be it alcohol or otherwise. You can count on Virginia to have your back in a firefight, and Massa will be there to patch you up if you happen to get shot. Florida's nice and is a helluva a shot with a grenade launcher. Wyoming tells bad jokes and can surgically remove your head from your shoulders from up to a mile away. Carolina is at the top of the board, and isn't going to be going anywhere anytime soon. She is, arguably, the best agent here and responds to bullshit with bullets."

The freelancers, at this point, had actually started leaning in a little closer.

"Questions? Comments? Concerns? No? Well then, in that case," Killian apparently had no intent on continuing any further than he already had. "Enjoy your stay in the Recovery-Wing."

The medic left the Freelancers without another word, and the trio was left to soak in his 'advice'.


	60. Chapter 59: Splitting Up

**(A/N) Hey guys, it's time for another update! The days just really seem to fly by, don't they! This one is one of my personal favourites, although I've loved all of the chapters so far, it's been great to see the amount of effort that everyone's been willing to put in. Welcome back to the mind of Agent Georgia, the jet-packing kick-ass engineer. It's been too long. **

**Applications will be closing shortly, but I'm getting tired of repeating myself at this stage. I assume you're going to apply if you're interested, and you're going to leave it if you're not. Just don't come wailing to me, going "Oh, I just didn't have the time". It takes all of five minutes to fill out an author application form, and the tell me that you're interested in applying to whoever. You have been warned.**

**Now, on a lighter note, enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter Fifty-Nine – Splitting Up**

**Agent Georgia**

**Written by WargishBoromirFan**

* * *

"_The only thing that differentiates you and me from a couple of fourteen-year-old pyromaniacs is bulletproof glass_." - Adam Savage, "Mythbusters"

* * *

[Optional bonus quotes, one too crude and the other too geeky, but I regret neither:

"_I'm a lead farmer, motherfucker."_- Kirk Lazarus, "Tropic Thunder"

_"Denethor loved her, in his fashion, more dearly than any other, unless it was the elder of the sons that she bore him." __-_"Return of the King, Appendix A."]

* * *

"Rookies! The Director wants you in the command room, front and centre!" Carolina barely slowed as she beat her own way to the bridge, not sparing a glance to see if the two men were conscious, let alone following her. Georgia had had to throw armour on in more stressful circumstances than this, but it was definitely a good thing that the routine was more or less instinctual and the guys had spontaneously decided that his high-ridged green and pink helmet was the funniest party-wear ever last night, way too hilarious for him to take off, because it sure wasn't being put on with any thought.

"Please tell me I don't have anything too crazy on my armour before we go see the Director," Ark muttered with a groan. "'Cause you've got something drawn here." He ran a gloved finger against Georgia's cheek-guard and grunted at the result. "Huh. Sharpie. Wyoming must have wanted to spread the joy of moustaches."

"You're fine; I'll get it later." Georgia waved him off and pulled out the green electrical tape to kludge something resembling proper dress code, at least so long as the Director had somehow misplaced his glasses and didn't come too close. Band-aids and tape could cover for at least a cursory inspection; the buffer, laser, and paint could come into play once there was time for soap and caffeine. It was better to be on time and a little messy than miss what the Director had to say. If they hurried, they'd make it to the briefing room before Carolina finished rounding up the others.

Bit of a surprise to see that Mich wasn't with her. The little blonde in lavender and icy blue held herself high and distant, but when the boss lady whistled, even her aloof roommate, Sota, and Cal came running, if not without some grumbling on Cal's part. There was just something about the redheaded woman that demanded one's compliance - she didn't really give two damns whether she was respected by her peers or thought of as a friend, but she might as well be the Director himself out in the field for all the back-talk she took and proved her skills in training and challenges so that the rest knew why they really ought to follow her - much as some might hate to admit it, Carolina was the best.

Between that unstoppable force and the immovable object of the Director's call, Georgia and Arkansas stumbled into a run, hangovers or no. "Why the hell'd I let you throw a party in our room last night?" Ark squinted against the lights of the hall as they caught up with the twins and California. Sota seemed to be missing, too.

"We were celebrating that you three survived in the ring with Carolina, Alaska, and Virginia for a sum total of about twenty minutes, ten to fifteen of which were just Alaska messing around with Cal's brain." North sounded way too cheery to be hungover. He hadn't drunk that much last night, reminding the others, - South, especially, - that they had an early start in the morning. Georgia wished he'd just meant their customary morning run.

His sister threw a punch at her purple-armoured brother. South's helmet was shoved on tight, and every move she made seemed weighted with newly-awoken rage and half-drunk deliberation. She was not in a mood to talk in more than Maine-isms.

"Sota make it back all right?" Georgia asked. Carolina had gotten both of the big men from 6401 and was pounding at Florida and Alaska's door, as well. Minnesota was a relatively light partier, but surely he hadn't dashed all the way up to the command room before the rest.

California nodded, then seemed to think better of the movement. "Carolina just called me out. I didn't realize this was a full crew briefing."

"We're missing a couple for it to be full crew," North observed as they passed York and Wyoming's room without any slowdown from their leader. Massa and Virgina's room was well down the other end of the hall, and also apparently left undisturbed.

"Notice how it mostly seems to be the girls?" Georgia asked, before staggering under his own cuff from South Dakota. "Hey, York and Sota were left behind too, so it kinda evens out. Ain't the full boys' club, even with you." Seriously, Maine was snarling less this morning.

"And Wyoming is missing, too," Ark added diplomatically, electing to ignore the onslaught upon his roommate and letting North call South off.

"Like I said, notice how it's mostly the girls?"

"Georgia, shut up," Cal hissed as they entered the bridge, hackles raised as he was packed in closer to Alaska. California was attempting an air of perfect sobriety beneath his white helmet, back stiff as he threw "watch out" claws in Alaska's direction. The senior agent in red ignored him completely, though Florida waved, prompting the tangle of rookies save South to wave back. Even she offered Florida a slightly less hostile grunt. "Though honestly, I think Carolina counts more as one-robot-hit-squad than guy or girl," Cal added once Alaska and Florida had passed them by. "There are cybernetics and then there are cybernetics, you know?"

"On behalf of York, Mich, and everyone else with a half-decent sense of humor, I feel compelled to smack you upside the head for that one," North groaned. "But I'll save it for later."

"Got it," Maine volunteered. He did have a much easier time reaching Cal's cranium than Michigan typically did, though Maine seemed extra careful not to put his palm through the helmet after last night.

"Straighten up, rookies. The Counselor's here," Penn rumbled, looking as if he were curious about this particular combination of agents himself - namely, why he had been dragged in to help baby-sit the romper room.

The rest of the group quickly stood to attention, if in a knot rather than a perfect formation. "Good morning, agents," the Counselor greeted them. "I'm sure you have questions concerning why some of you are here and some are not, but we have a project on tap that requires a certain skill set. This is not a training mission." While no one broke discipline enough to rubberneck and get a good long look at just what the others' reactions were, Georgia was not the only one trading glances with his teammates out of the corner of his eyes. "We have located two nearby Insurrectionist targets, and we require you in particular to remove them."

The Counselor stepped back smoothly, introductory speech completed, to reveal the Director. "Our last encounter with the Insurrection resulted in the loss of certain sets of armour, as I'm certain our senior agents remember. Unfortunately, they were not all removed from our enemies' clutches as I was told they were."

The mouth beneath those shining thick lenses remained tight as the Director glanced briefly between Carolina and Pennsylvania.

"The Innies have not used the armour simply as a pallet for their arts and crafts projects, I assure you."

Georgia twitched uncomfortably as that reflected light was turned upon his own green helmet. Must have missed a spot. Though how the Director saw the dullness of the tape against the helmet or even the black sharpie marks in this harsh half-light through such translucent lenses was a mystery. Did the man just pick angles on the ship where he knew they'd offer the most glare?

"They have started production on MJOLNIR-inspired armour. The Mark VI armour is top of the line, ladies and gentlemen. It is what protects you from Insurrectionist attacks and has, until now, offered the UNSC a distinct advantage over these terrorists and anarchists who would threaten what delicate existence we have achieved in the face of an alien threat. The UNSC will not thank us for losing that advantage in a time of war," the Director continued. "That is why we will end Insurrectionist armour research and development and insure that we maintain technological superiority. If they wish to play at outlaws, then we will see them blown back to the old West."

With the click of a button, the Director activated a three-dimensional map of a dilapidated UNSC bunker, allowing the agents to gather in. There were newer additions to the building, recently reinforced struts and improved security around the entryways. "This is the facility that they have converted into a factory for mass production. It will be up to Pennsylvania, Alaska, Arkansas, and North and South Dakota to insure that it does not produce so much as one set of armour. You will remove all the plans at this location and then destroy it from the face of Harmony."

Penn considered his team doubtfully through the light of the model, barely satisfied with Alaska, let alone the still delicately greenish faces of Ark and South.

"You have concerns about your team, Agent Penn?" the Counselor stepped in.

"If we're being sent to retrieve data and destroy this place, why am I not bringing Florida or York? Or even Virgina?" Honestly, Georgia wondered why he wasn't going, himself. He might not be as good at the wiring as a Double E or knowing exactly what set off the explosion as a Chem E, but he was an engineer: he specialized in building things up and taking them down.

"Florida's skills are needed on another mission at this time," the Counselor explained, still not saying anything about the missing York or Virginia. "Arkansas has the second best record with demolitions, and has plenty of covert entry experience, as well. If he would not suit your purposes, our agent with the third greatest amount of demolitions expertise would be Georgia."

Penn gave the smaller man in green a long stare. "Ark will do," he decided.

"While the other team is removing the armour facility, Carolina, California, Florida, Georgia, and Maine will simultaneously be further weakening the Insurrection via the destruction of a MAC cannon prototype located elsewhere on the planet," the Director continued, bringing up a new map. This was another old bunker, overflowing with Mass Accelerator rounds like coeds at happy hour. Georgia just wanted to pick them all up and take them home. "You will not leave so much as a single shell intact at that site. For every step they steal against us, we will force these thieves and rebels two steps back. Your equipment and travel accommodations are waiting for you, agents. The Insurrection and UNSC are not. Gear up and get moving."

"Yes, sir!" Carolina was the first to snap a salute and step smartly out of the command room, hardly giving Georgia the chance to ask if maybe he might be able to fit the cannon on the back of the Warthog and ghost it out of the building; it'd still be out of Innie hands and he was sure Ark wouldn't mind having one in the room as long as Georgia promised to share with the other Freelancers… Ah, well, he thought as he echoed her salute a few seconds behind. Maybe he could ask later. In the meantime, he, Ark, and Florida were going to get some very powerful explosives to set off.

"This is gonna be fun!" Florida gushed as they made their way into the armoury. "Always good to teach those Innie rascals about what happens when they take what's not theirs, and what better learning is there than through pyrotechnics?" Always had been Georgia's most effective learning tool.

"Not sure how many of them will be left alive to learn," Cal muttered behind them, strapping together his kit as Maine and Penn eyed each other warily over the several-ton bombs they had been instructed to help move onto the Pelicans. Even with a sled, those things weren't rolling right on and off. Once they separated on planet-side, they'd probably need at least half of each team to move the explosives into place.

"What's left of them will know," Florida insisted. "The remaining Innies at other sites will know why we did this. They'll know better after that."

"Maybe some of 'em'll come around, once they know they're on the losing side," Georgia added optimistically.

"It'd be nice, if people would figure out the right thing to do just because they've been beaten," North ventured, checking the sights of his scope, but cut off his speech as a slightly lighter purple and green helmet turned accusatively in his direction, a loaded cartridge suggestively close to the battle rifle in South's hands.

"Yeah, but then we'd be out of a job after beating them just once," Cal said, running a combat knife through his fingers in a practiced flourish. "And I, for one, am looking forward to plenty of missions against the Innies. How about you guys?"

"Burning for it," Ark deadpanned with an old rage that Georgia didn't recognize in his roommate, something even more dangerous, calculating, and wild than when Arkansas had challenged Carolina in hand to hand. And people thought he was the nutty one.

"You don't even know what you're dealing with," Alaska spoke up, his voice frigid stone beneath the red ODST helmet. "I myself would like a taste of revenge, but if you threaten to imbibe as much in this matter as you did last night, you shall not like the consequences any better."

"They're just excited, Al," Florida cut in gently before Ark and California could argue. "You must remember your first official mission on a new team, all full of thud and blunder and eager to show off. We'll make sure they don't get too carried away. That's why we're backing them, Penn, and Carolina up." Though this explanation visibly didn't sit right with the muted bloodlust in Cal and Ark's features - a stronger drive to cut through the final fumes of alcohol withdrawal than Maine's animal wrath or South's easy belligerence - because it was Florida, nobody contradicted him, though Alaska could raise a very eloquent eyebrow beneath his helmet. "You stay safe out there, too, buddy. That was one game of hide and seek I don't want to play again."

"I will certainly try," the big agent in red promised dryly. "I have no desire to repeat the experience, either. Terrible interior design."

"Then I'll stay safe, myself," Florida returned, good-naturedly shooing the last of the newer Freelancers out of the armoury after Penn and Maine. "Come on, Carolina's waiting on us, folks."

Georgia really hadn't even seen Carolina in the armoury, but she was fully kitted out and approaching the Pelicans. The only reason she hadn't yet boarded was that she hadn't been the only one waiting for the two teams.

The six Freelancers that had not been called in to the early morning briefing had emerged in various states of dress, from Virginia in full combat gear with a sniper rifle slung on her back to Wyoming attired in sharp-looking civvies to a half-armoured Sota, missing his helmet and one of his greaves and with something unrecognizable scrawled across his chest plate in black ink, to Mich in her exercise gear, to Massa, her hasty ponytail a mess, eyes betraying her lack of rest, and helmet off but waiting for the word at her feet, to York, still in his sleep pants and a rumpled t-shirt, his spiky hair half-flattened from a pillow and grey eyes still dark from his sudden awakening.

"I heard that there was a mission," Virginia said, every word a bite of bile.

"They told us about two, actually," Georgia spoke up, before South elbowed him in the stomach.

"They appear to have forgotten the better part of the crew," Wyoming said, straightening his blazer with a crisp jerk. "Unless they have you and Carolina running training exercises now, old bean?" His eyes curled as dastardly upwards at Penn as his moustache.

"It's not a training exercise. The Director wanted us, not you. Try training harder," Carolina shot off in rapid fire and started to push her way through the knot.

"To be fair, we did wish we had you guys along, too," North offered with a commiserating shrug and half-smile as he followed in Carolina's wake. This didn't seem to impress Virginia too much, but Maine and South were bulling their ways through now, as well, and the remaining agents didn't stand in the away teams' path.

"The Director must've wanted the best to guard _Mommy_ while we're out turning Innies inside out," Cal added to Mich's groan. "Don't let us down, dude." He tapped his gauntlet against the one Sota had managed to scare up before leaving the dorms.

And before Georgia realized it, he was boarding one ship while Ark stepped up the ramp of the other. Win or lose, training or downtime, they'd always been together, watching each other's back since stepping onto the _Mother_ for the first time. Maybe not always understanding what the other one was doing and keeping a couple steps downrange to stay out of the way, but there for the clean-up, there to dust the other guy off, there to lend a hand and back him up when things got crazy. Georgia waved, and Arkansas offered him a nod. When he lowered his hand, Georgia dropped it to his tool belt for a familiar bit of well-worn copper.

Wasn't exactly like leaving his brothers, just waving off another fatherless farm-boy who knew more about wiring, guns, and explosives than was considered healthy by most standards, a man who'd just joined up to help. His brothers had kept their feet on solid earth. Georgia stared out the back of the Pelican for a little longer.

That was, all the outbound agents had gotten past those left behind but for Carolina. Even when Virginia could no longer meet her stare and Wyoming had sauntered off with a scalded cat's studied indifference, Michigan had worked up the rage to hurl insults at California's retreating back and then emptied herself of it, falling back to Massachusetts's side and reluctantly letting the older woman lead her away, and Minnesota had melted back into the grey hallways, still staring hungrily after the ship, New York still had a hold on Carolina's arm.

"Let go, York. I need to leave."

He might still be sleepy, but York was determined. "Just hang on a second, Carolina."

"Don't make me hurt you." She took a step toward him, pulling her free arm back.

"I know you can. I just need you to promise me that you'll stay safe." His smile was clumsy, accompanied by the biggest begging eyes this side of an abandoned dog.

"Don't worry." Carolina deflated a little even as she pulled her arm away. If Georgia had watched the far shadows for a pair of reflected lights, he might have seen another mouth beneath green eyes echo her words even as she said them. "You'll see me again."

With that, Carolina turned and rocketed up the boarding ramp, shoving Georgia toward a seat. "Quit standing around, newbie. We're off."


	61. Chapter 60: Almost Compromised

**(A/N) Hey guys, I'm sorry about the delay. This is Saturday's chapter, and the reason that it's going up so late will soon be made clear. Parabola was under a lot of constraints with exams and stuff, so I took this chapter off her hands (don't worry, she'll be writing the next Carolina chapter), but, because of work and family stuff, I have only been able to get it finished now. The normal Monday update will be up later tonight, and I think you're all going to enjoy it, and, hopefully, you'll all enjoy this chapter too!**

**For those still interested in applying for the sequel, please do so immediately, as I'm planning on announcing the selected authors on Thursday, as we won't have an update for the X-Ray and Vav fic this week. So please, wither get applying, or at least message me so I'll hold off on the announcement for a few days.**

**Anyway, as always, enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter Sixty – Almost Compromised**

**Agent Carolina**

**Written by NicKenny**

* * *

"A leader is one who knows the way, goes the way, and shows the way." - John C. Maxwell.

* * *

"Ok team, get ready because we'll be going in hot!" Carolina ordered from her co-pilot's seat on 479er's pelican, already counting off the seconds in her head before they would be forced to make a fast exit from the ship.

"Wait, what?" Georgia asked from the back, a note of confusion in his voice. "I thought the briefing said that all forces where located within the facility, with little to no security on the surface, in order to avoid detection from fly-by drones?"

Carolina nodded to herself, pleased that someone, at least, had read through the briefing notes during the flight. A much better scenario than the old days, when Penn and Alaska tended to dive in head first and ask questions later. Maybe this time round, they could avoid getting any of their teammates shot.

"Exactly, does that not strike you as a little odd? I mean, this is a vital facility for the Insurrection, why risk everything on the off chance that if you keep everyone below ground, no one will find you. Whatever can be said about them, they're not idiots."

A slight pause in the passenger bay, then Maine tentatively broke in, to the surprise of all. "So, it's a trap?"

Carolina nodded again, although she knew that the others wouldn't be able to see this gesture. "It's a trap. They could have anything waiting for us, from pressure sensors to automated turrets to mines. Make no mistake, this isn't going to be a walk in the park."

California took this moment to speak up, his cocky tone clearly betraying his excitement. "What happens if they really are that stupid, and there's nothing waiting for us until we break in?"

She sighed and exchanged a knowing glance with 479er, whose body language clearly asked _'Is this guy for real?' _"It's never that easy Cal, trust me on this. And hey, if I'm wrong, it's better to be safe than sorry. But I won't be."

479er turned back to her again. "I'd go get your team prepped, Carolina, we'll be reaching our E.T.A. in five. I'll be dropping you off and high-tailing it out of there to the nearest safe zone, so you guys will be on your own until the mission's complete."

Carolina nodded back to her. "Understood, I'll radio you when we've planted the explosives. You fly safe, you hear?"

479er just chuckled and waved a hand directing her towards the back of the pelican. Carolina disengaged the co-pilot system, and hopped out of her chair, entering the passenger bay of the ship where her team were waiting expectantly.

"Ok, we all know the plan, right? Maine, Florida and Georgia will move the bomb into position, with Cal and I dealing with any Insurrectionist resistance. We place the bomb in the main chamber, next to the MAC prototype, then get the hell out of there, before detonating the explosives. With luck, the blast should be big enough to either collapse the facility in on itself, or to detonate some of the MAC rounds in the adjacent rooms, causing a chain reaction that should destroy the rest of the facility. Sync?"

"Sync," the four other agents chorused, even Maine, with his deep, rumbling voice. At that moment the pelican began to slow down and 479er yelled back at them, just as the doorway ramp began to lower.

"Ok, you're clear for drop-off. Now your asses off my ship!"

Carolina glanced back with a half-smile, hidden beneath her helmet. She turned back to her team and nodded towards the now open doorway. "Well?" she asked, waiting for them to move.

Georgia looked at it, gulped, then turned back to her. "We're like three thousand feet up in the air!"

The other agents appeared to concur with the statement, Maine in particular, who was avoiding even looking at the opened exit. "Too high," he grumbled, not meeting Carolina's gaze.

She sighed in exasperation, placed her boot firmly against the bomb and pushed, the heavy metal device rolling across the floor on its sled, falling out the opened doorway. The agents' gaze followed its fall, and, using this distraction, Carolina shot forward and tackled Maine out the doorway, and the two were suddenly free falling in the open air. Maine let out what could only be described as a squeal, clawing towards the ship above him.

"Oh grow up, you big baby," Carolina muttered, holding on firmly to his torso despite his attempts to knock her off, her eyes firmly locked on the bomb falling rapidly beneath them. She pulled her body upwards, forcing Maine into a similar position, decreasing their wind resistance and increasing their general speed, and the bomb was quickly with touching distance.

Carolina stretched out her hand and triumphantly grabbed the handrail to the bomb's affixed sled, pulling both herself and Maine onto its surface. Maine was gripping the edge with a worrying intensity, trembling slightly as the ground beneath them continued to get closer and closer. Carolina rolled her eyes from beneath her helmet and reach over to the sled's side, grasping the handle that she knew would be there and pulling it back with a sudden finality, just as she felt three heavy _thumps _rock the bomb. Four parachutes shot out of the sled, one at each corner, and Carolina was forced to cling onto the edge of the sled to prevent herself from falling off as they rapidly decreased in speed.

She turned back to Maine, only to see Florida, Cal and Georgia lying on him in various positions of discomfort, the bigger agent lying winded beneath them. Just because he was impervious to pain didn't mean that he couldn't have the air knocked out of his lungs, and Carolina had to supress a laugh at the image in front of her.

A few seconds later the sled made contact with the ground beneath it, and the parachutes were sucked back into their hatches, ready for redeployment if necessary. At the point of contact with the earth, Georgia shot off his rather tentative position, perched on top of Maine's round helmet, landed on the ground a few feet below them with a groan.

The others hopped off promptly, Florida offering the agent in green and pink a hand up, while Maine dusted himself off as he got his breath back, grumbling unintelligibly to himself.

"Everyone ok?" Carolina asked wryly, and, sure enough, all four agents' heads snapped in her direction, and she didn't have to see their faces to know that they were glaring at her. "I'll take that as a yes then."

She drew her twin magnums and nodded towards the bomb. "You three, start pushing. Cal, I want you next to me. You say you know all there is to know about these guys, I want you to prove it."

The three agents on bomb pushing duty groaned, and turned away. Cal stepped forward and drew his battle rifle, leaving the twin SMGs by his side for the time being. "Got it, boss," he replied, stepping forward eagerly.

Carolina glanced behind her and saw Florida and Georgia using leather straps to harness Maine to the sled, much to the bigger agent's rage, and turned back to Cal. "It's going to take them a few minutes to get the bomb to the facility. Guess we should try to clear out any security first."

* * *

The first patrol never saw her coming. Cal had stepped on a pressure plate, alerting the guards to his position, and a moment later a group of five Insurrectionists appeared, guns raised, scouting the area for whoever had set the plate off, as Cal had, by this point, disappeared. The security cameras had already been removed from the equation after Georgia had taken a small metallic device from one of the various pouches attached to his armour, telling her to push the big red button when they were within a hundred feet of the complex, telling her that it would hack into the camera's feed and establish a continuous loop within the system, showing nothing out of the ordinary to those watching. Something that he and Ark had thrown together in their spare time, apparently.

"Everything runs on wifi these days," he had informed her, grinning from ear to ear.

When the guards neared the treeline at the edge of the complex, Carolina struck, appearing from above them on the branches of one of the tallest trees, landing on top of one soldier before springing off of him and snap-kicking the second into the third, just as Cal appeared on the scene, knife in hand, swiping it across the throat of the fourth guard before kicking the fifth into Carolina's path, who took him down with a mean right hook.

Ignoring the now either unconscious or dead guards around them, Carolina nodded to the open metal door which the guards had exited the complex through, and smiled. "Looks like we've got our way in," she murmured, as Cal leant down to wipe the guard's blood off of his knife, replacing it into its sheath and drawing his battle rifle once more.

He looked back over at her, and then over to the door. "Then let's do this thing," he replied, as Carolina radioed the others to alert them of their position.

* * *

The facility was eerily devoid of human life as the five freelancers made their way through the winding underground corridors, all too aware that, at any moment, alarms would start to sound as the incapacitated guards were either missed or discovered, and the breach in the Innies' security realised. Indeed, Carolina was somewhat surprised that it hadn't happened already. It had been almost ten minutes since she and Cal had taken down the guards. If this facility was really as important to the Insurrectionist's as the Director believed, their security teams should have picked up on their intrusion at this stage.

Navigating the bomb and its sled down the flights of stairs had been an absolute bitch, and it had been all she could do to make sure that they didn't create too much noise, but Maine and Georgia weren't exactly experts at stealth, and there had been one or two close calls when Insurrectionist patrols had passed by and they were forced to hide, or else risk alerting the whole facility. The closest they had come to blowing their cover had been when the bomb had slipped out of Maine's grasp, and Florida and Georgia were forced to use all of the strength that they had to prevent it from falling down the stairs on top of them and crushing them, while the giant in white regained his footing and pulled the bomb back.

But other than that, everything was progressing as planned, the route to the main chamber memorised within her head, and, despite the maze of tunnels that they had found themselves in, she was confident that they were heading in the right direction.

Sure enough, within a few minutes the tunnel that they were traveling in began to widen, and soon opened up into a huge room, lit up at all sides, filled with men in standard Insurrectionist uniform, and, here and there, wearing the new steel grey suits that they had created as a bastardised version of the freelancers' armour, and their own technology. Carolina raised her hand and felt her team come to a standstill behind her, Maine's laboured breathing echoing throughout the tunnel as he fought to regain his breath, still harnessed to the bomb.

"Georgia, you know what to do," Carolina murmured, turning to him and _feeling _him light up at her words, delighted at the chance to test out his technology in the field, something that he hadn't been able to do up until now.

'_Just like Florida and his explosives,'_ she thought wryly, as Georgia pulled out a data-pad identical to the one that the Counselor carried with him at all times, his fingers flying across its surface with a dexterity that she could only wonder at, his entire body vibrating with enthusiasm. A moment later, alarms began to scream throughout the complex, and the lights quickly changes from a reassuring white to a harsh pulsating red. The soldiers began to yell to one another and file out into the dozens of tunnels that surrounded the room, but, as planned, none of them entered the tunnel that the freelancers currently occupied, proving that the Director's intel had been sound.

Georgia looked up, and Carolina knew that beneath his helmet he would be beaming from ear to ear. "It worked!" he exclaimed in a hushed whisper. "Ark is going to be so happy when I tell him. We spent _weeks _trying to get the program to work. It's like I said, everything runs on wifi these days."

She ignored his rants and gestured for Maine, Georgia and Florida to get moving, slowly emerging from the tunnel with them, Cal taking up the rear, her eyes scanning the room and the walkways above them for any sign of a threat as they approached the prototype Magnetic Accelerator Cannon that dominated the huge cavern of a room.

Up close it truly was awe-inspiring. She could feel Georgia twitching next to her, his fingers drumming against the frame of the bomb. She glanced at him, only to see him staring at her mournfully, his head shaking slowly from side to side. "Are you sure we have to blow it up," he asked, his voice filled with sadness. "There's no way that we could take it with us?"

Carolina just stared at him in confusion. "Georgia, it's a cannon that fires six-hundred ton rounds. How the hell would we be able to take it anywhere?"

"Can we at least fire it? Just once?"

"Georgia, we're in the middle of a concrete bunker, half a kilometre from the surface. What would we even fire it at?"

He paused for a moment, clearly putting some thought into his answer. "How about the Insurrectionist base?"

Carolina looked away, glancing over to Florida and Cal, who were both clearly trying very hard not to laugh. "We're in the Insurrectionist base, Georgia. This might be a flaw that you have failed to grasp in your plan of action, but using the MAC on the building that we are currently in is not really an option at this point."

Georgia fell silent, occasionally murmuring an odd word under his breath, but Carolina paid little notice to the green-clad agent. "Maine, push the bomb over as close as you can to the prototype. Florida, have you got everything good to go?"

The agent in blue nodded enthusiastically. "Everything's rigged up and ready to blow up, Carolina. I'm just waiting on Maine here to finish movin' it before I set the timer."

She turned away, nodding slowly. "Good. Tell me when you're done."

Looking around, she couldn't help but smile confidently beneath her helmet. Everything was going according to plan. She felt more than slightly smug when she wondered how Penn's team were getting on, confident that her own would surpass them. _'Looks like Penn is just going to have to get used to second best,' _she thought smugly.

Florida and Maine walked up to her, the smaller freelancer pulling off a smart and cheery salute. "Bomb's timer is set, we've got ten minutes to get out of here."

She felt Cal shift uneasily next to her. "But it took us almost ten minutes to get down here! Aren't we going to be cutting it a little close?"

Carolina snorted, glancing at him for a moment. "We were pushing a several ton bomb along with us, slowing us down. We should be out and on our way home by the time this place goes up in smoke."

Maine turned away, grumbling quietly. "_You_ weren't pushing the bomb."

She ignored him, gesturing them to follow as she made her way towards the tunnel that they had entered the prototype's hanger through, but just as they reached it they picked up voices coming down that same tunnel, and her motion receptor began to blink, indicating that at least five targets were making their way down the tunnel.

"Move back. Hide!" she whispered harshly to her team, motioning for them to find cover until the group of Insurrectionists had passed. They couldn't afford to alert the Insurrectionists of their presence, not at this point. If they sounded the alarm and brought the whole base down on them, there would be no way that they could make it out of here before the explosives detonated.

She crouched behind a forklift, hoping that the bright orange wouldn't show up her armour. Florida and Georgia hid behind some spare parts for the MAC in the far corner of the room, Cal was crouched next to some oil barrels only a few feet away from her, and Maine had…disappeared. Carolina hoped he'd turn up sooner than later, when they were able to move. Maine was…unpredictable at times.

Five soldiers made their way out of the tunnel that the freelancers had entered through, all clad in the steel grey armour that Penn's team were, at this moment, destroying the facility that produced it. However, the soldier leading the group's armour had dark red accents, no doubt marking him out as the leader of the group. She caught a few strands of their conversation, and realised, with a slight sense of dread, that they were talking about _them._

"They entered through here," the leader murmured, scanning the room through his grey visor. "They must have been the ones to sound the alarm too, in order to clear out this room. What were they up to…"

He reached up to his helmet, released the latches, and removed it, tucking it underneath his arm. Carolina felt Cal freeze as he did so, and she took a second look at the leader, immediately recognising him from the Director's briefing on the previous mission.

Lieutenant Ian Harper, the second-highest ranking member of the Insurrection that they were aware of. His tousled blond hair, bright green eyes and tanned skin gave him the look of the perfect poster boy for the Insurrection. Tall, but not _too _tall. Strong, athletic and, from the information that the Director had on him, utterly, utterly ruthless.

Cal began to shake next to her, and she glanced over at him, her brow furrowed, confused, before she remembered Cal's original reaction to the information that Harper had been sighted the mission before, and how he had stormed out, getting into a fight with Ark which had ended with Cal _shooting _him, after he had been told that he wouldn't be involved.

This was not good.

"Cal," she whispered urgently. "Don't do anything stupid. Just wait for them to leave, the mission is too important to compromise."

He turned and looked at her for a moment, and paused to consider her words. "Fuck the mission," he replied, already moving. "I'm going after Harper."

He charged out, moving behind the group of Insurrectionists, and drew his SMGs, shouting "HARPER!" and Carolina could tell that he was grinning as the Innies spun around, raising their own weapons.

Harper was the only one of the five who appeared unruffled by California's sudden appearance, grinning widely from ear to ear, and that was the moment were Carolina saw it. He was insane. Not just bloodthirsty, like Penn, emotionless, like Maine, or mental, like Alaska, but genuinely, utterly insane.

"I recognise that voice," he murmured slowly, pushing past his men, his head cocked slightly. "Tell me, you couldn't be little –"

"I'm called California now, Harper," Cal spat, his SMGs trained directly on Harper, ignoring the other Innies, who were slowly moving out to surround Cal. Carolina glanced over at Georgia and Florida, and nodded to them, then nodded to the Insurrectionists. The two agents seemed to understand her gestures, slowly moving away into better vantage points, their weapons drawn.

Harper just chuckled throatily, and slowly put his helmet back on, his manic grin now hidden behind the dull grey visor. "Well, ain't that sweet. But you'll always be that little kid to me, _Cal_, screaming while he watched his –"

"ENOUGH!" Cal screamed, his SMGs wobbling slightly. "It's over, Harper. This ends here, between me and you."

Harper cocked his head and laughed, not even bothering to try and draw his own weapon. "Then what are you waiting for?"

At that moment, Cal let loose, squeezing the triggers of his twin SMGs, emptying the full clips of both into Harper's body, then paused in shock as Harper remained standing, unflinching, as bullet casing dropped to the ground all around him.

The Insurrectionist lieutenant strode forward cockily, still unarmed, and laughed once more. "You see, Cal, we are superior to you in every way. You just. Can't. Win."

Cal screamed wordlessly and charged forward, throwing a punch at Harper, who neatly sidestepped it, attempting to sweep Cal's legs out from underneath him but Cal was expecting this, already vaulting back as Harper sprung out from the sweep, throwing a right hook which Cal expertly blocked, grabbing Harper by the chest-plate of his armour, and the two grappled for a moment, before Harper managed to break free, kicking Cal in the gut to propel himself away.

Carolina remained motionless for a moment, noticing how the two remained perfectly matched throughout the fight, each punch returned, each kick evaded or used against the attacker. She was only broken out of this trance when the first of Harper's Innies interfered, throwing a punch at the back of Cal's head which sent him plummeting to the floor. She opened up her radio communications and ordered the rest of her team into the fight.

"Now. Now. Now!"

She sprang out over the forklift, her magnums already firing, but their bullets also bounced harmlessly off of the Innies' armour, and she reattached them to her sides with a slight curse. Still falling through the air after leaping out from the forklift, she landed heavily on the nearest Innie, who collapsed to the ground beneath her.

So while bullets had no effect on them, brute force did.

Where the hell was Maine when you needed him?

Georgia and Florida immediately launched their own offensive, already avoiding using their weapons after Cal and Carolina's own weapons proved ineffective. The two agents worked together seamlessly, and while neither could be called Project Freelancer's finest at close combat, the two Insurrectionists that were currently punching at thin air as the agents bobbed and weaved around them wouldn't have been able to tell.

Carolina picked up Cal, and threw herself forward as Harper and the other Insurrectionist decided to finally use their own weapons, two shotguns bursts exploding in the area that she had previously occupied. The two agents spun around as Harper and his teammate aimed for a second shot, and that was when Maine decided to make an appearance.

Apparently, he had spent this entire time scaling the prototype MAC, and Carolina's eyes widened when she caught sight of him, perched against the edge, overlooking both herself and Cal, and their attackers. The Insurrectionist next to Harper must have sensed that something was up, because he looked up at the same time as Maine landed on him, slamming him into the floor.

Harper laughed in amusement and ducked as Maine through a heavy-handed punch his way, slowly retreating away from them, closely followed by the groggy agent who Carolina had landed on. "Guys!" Florida shouted from the far side of the room. "We've got about three minutes to get out of here."

Carolina glanced away from the retreating form of Harper and his teammate over to Florida, who was brandishing his assault rifle while loading his underslung grenade launcher. One Insurrectionist was only down, groaning, and Carolina wondered what Georgia and Florida had done to him, and the other was being distracted by Georgia. With a sudden "NOW!" Georgia threw himself away from the Innie, and Florida fired a grenade straight into the chest of the Innie, which promptly detonated, sending him flying into the next wall.

Carolina grabbed Cal, trying drag him away from the retreating form of Harper, but Cal was having none of it. "Get off of me!" he snarled, struggling in her grasp, causing Carolina to abruptly let go, and Cal staggered backwards into Maine, he wrapped his arms around him and lifted him bodily up into the air, ignoring his protests.

"Everyone, it's time to leave. Now!" she ordered, already making her way to the tunnel that they had originally entered through, ignoring the wounded Innies that they had left in their wake. She led her team through the winding corridors and stairways, Florida counting the timer off over the radio as they exited the facility, and they finally burst out into daylight with thirty seconds to go. By this stage, all of the base's alarms were sounding, and there were Insurrectionists waiting for them at the surface, but the freelancers just increased their speed, determined to get out of the blast radius before the bomb went off, barely noticing the bullets that flew past them.

"This is Agent Carolina, requesting an immediate extraction," she yelled over her radio, still sprinting with the rest of her team behind her as they burst into the forest that surrounded the bunker.

"**Agent Carolina, this is Extraction,"** 479er answered in reply. **"We read you loud and clear, and –"**

The rest of her words were cut off as the bomb detonated, the blast echoing through the forest and throwing the freelancers several feet into the air. Carolina landed on her feet, next to Florida and Cal, but Maine and Cal weren't so lucky, the big freelancer in white still holding the other agents in a tight bear hug. They flew up into the air, crashing into a tree, then slamming into the ground hard, throwing up dirt as they landed.

Carolina made her way over to them, lifted Cal up by the shoulder and nodding to Maine, who was dusting himself off. "You two okay?" she asked, and Maine grumbled what sounded like an affirmative in reply, and Cal just grunted.

She just turned and walked away, knowing that the others would follow, making for the clearing that they had agreed to use as their rendezvous point with 479er, unsurprised to see the pelican already waiting for them.

"Everything go ok?" the pilot asked as Carolina made her way back into the co-pilot seat, causing Carolina to snort angrily.

"The objective was completed, no thanks to Cal. He better get knocked down the leaderboard after this, because he could have compromised the entire mission."

479er whistled between her teeth. "Huh, that bad?"

"Don't even get me started," Carolina replied, looking away. "Just take us home."


	62. Chapter 61: Wake of Destruction

**(A/N) Hey guys, here, as promised, is our Monday update, and our second update of the day, if you've come on straight to here without reading the previous chapter. As I mentioned earlier today, I'm planning on announcing our new writers on Thursday, so please, please get working on your application if you're interested. Or at least message me so I can give you some more time. This chapter is brought to you by Jerem6401, who's lucky enough to be attending RTX at the moment, damn him. What I'd do to be there...**

**As always, enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter Sixty-One - Wake of Destruction**

**Agent Pennsylvania**

**Written by Jerem6401**

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"_It is forbidden to kill; therefore all murderers are punished unless they kill in large numbers and to the sound of trumpets." _― Voltaire

* * *

We trudged through the overgrown grass and large rocks in this forgotten area of space. The UNSC had set up a bunker here years and years ago, but it had since been abandoned. The demolition team originally scheduled to destroy the bunker, as is custom with any deserted property of the UNSC, were all taken out by Innies before they could get the job done. Now intel suggested this bunker was holding some very important plans. Plans that would allow the Insurrectionists to pump out sets of armour that rivalled our own, if not surpassed them. I was out front as we stepped over the last boulder on a massive hill. I looked out and saw the top of the bunker clearly visible in the plain ahead of us, the rest of it buried securely under the soil. I had never been in this particular base during my run in the UNSC, but if it was anything like the others, this was going to be a labyrinth of metal hallways and chambers.

"Hold up, squad," I spoke as I lifted my fist up. Alaska, Arkansas, North and South held up behind me. I strapped my assault rifle onto my back and turned to them. I pointed to North and nodded. "Display the layout."

"Yes, sir," he quickly replied, like the respectful soldier he was. He pulled a small device out of an ammo pouch hanging at his side and knelt down on the ground. He set it in the dirt and pressed a button on its side. The top of the device began spinning at an extremely high speed, before lighting up with a brilliant blue and projecting an image into the air above it. It was a 3D hologram of the bunker's interior, graciously provided by choice members of the UNSC. I stepped forward and glanced over the layout.

"Listen up, team," I began. "Our mission is straightforward, but not easy. We have two objectives, and neither one of these can be screwed up. Take a look at this." I stepped forward and put my finger on the hologram, making a section in the centre of the layout glow red. "This is the reactor core within the bunker, standard in all UNSC facilities stationed away from populated areas. It powers this entire base. Intel suggests the Insurrection have set up some kind of manufacturing plant within that bunker, which they're using to churn out this new armour. Agent Arkansas, that where you come in. You're on demo duty. Get to the core, plant the explosives, make your way out, and detonate them when the team is clear."

"Roger," he agreed. "Got enough plastic explosive here to take down a whole city block."

"We want this Insurrection plant stamped out, but not before we take this information for ourselves. Project Freelancer can surely benefit from whatever improvements they've made to the armour. That's objective B." I pointed to another area, making it light up red also. "This is the main data storage for the bunker, where they program the machinery running the manufacturing plant. We'll have to download and retrieve the data before exiting."

"So we'll hit that first," South stated. "It's closer to the exit. Plant the explosives, download the information, and get the hell out."

"Negative." The team all looked at me as I shot the suggestion down. "Would take too long. We need to get that retrieval started immediately. Arkansas, you're going straight to the core. I want that bomb set to blow in ten." He nodded and quickly checked his charges, making sure everything was good to go. "North and South, you two will be on escort duty. Get Arkansas to the core and make it quick. South is good on recon, so she can scout ahead, while North provides support from behind. Got it?"

"Yes, sir," North agreed.

"Good. Now get moving. We'll rendezvous back here after the charges are in place." The three of them stepped over the hill and quietly made their way to the base. Suddenly I felt a hand punch me in the shoulder. I stumbled forward for a second before turning around to see Alaska staring at me.

"Just planning on leaving me here?" he asked. "Is that it?" He was so smug. Stubborn. Headstrong. Just what I needed.

"Alaska, you're with me," I stated. "We're going to the data storage to retrieve that info."

"What?" he asked. "Why me? Why didn't you take South?" I knelt down and deactivated the hologram. Tucking it away into my belt.

"She's better off working with her brother," I replied. "Besides, I need someone who I know will get the job done." I stood up and nodded to him as I pulled out my assault rifle again. "Someone I can trust." Alaska took out his DMR and stood next to me as we both looked at the bunker.

"Alright, I'm with you, Penn," he said. He started walking and turned his head back. "But if I were you, I wouldn't get so cozy trusting me just yet." I smirked and joined him in approaching the base.

"And if I were you, I wouldn't consider this understanding a friendship… dick."

"Asshole."

* * *

We slowly walked through the dim, metal hallways, keeping our lights off to avoid detection. We would stop at every intersection to check our corners, before clearing and moving on. No sign of Innies anywhere, but the bunker was definitely alive with the sound of machinery. Up ahead we could see a section of the hallway made of glass, revealing it was traveling through a much larger room outside of it. We cautiously approached it and stared out of the windows. The massive room around our small hallway was filled with huge machines. They showered sparks down like rain and stayed at an even pace as they pressed metal together and bolted gadgets of all kinds into place. They all had large conveyer belts that fed into their heated core, making the strange metal they were using malleable.

"The data storage is nearby," I whispered to Alaska. "They can't keep this amount of machinery too far from its main programming. We should get moving before we get spotted."

"It looks like some form of steel, only lighter," Alaska muttered. "No, I've never seen anything quite like it. Some kind of alloy I suppose. What? I mean… of course I'm interested. Aren't you? No, Moi, I'm not ignoring the mission."

"Hey, clueless," I called out. "What the hell are you doing?" Alaska shook his head and looked at me.

"What?" he asked. "Oh, sorry… wasn't talking to you." I titled my head and stood up straight.

"Not talking to me?" I asked. "Then who…" Suddenly the hallway erupted into the sound of a pulsing alarm, and red lights flooded every inch of the world around us.

"Damn!" I yelled. "The others must have tripped the alarm!" Then we noticed that at either end of our small hallways were two huge metal doors. They began lowering towards the ground, to trap us in place. "Quick! Let's go!" I ran to the door, seeing there was no way I could get there in time.

"Watch your left!" Alaska yelled. I leaned to my right just as his DMR came flying over my shoulder. It spun in the air and went straight for the small gap remaining between the door and the floor. It wedged itself in that space perfectly, stopping the door for a moment. We used to the opportunity to slide underneath it, Alaska grabbing his DMR back on the way by. We stood up again just as the door slammed down.

"There they are!" someone shouted from down the hall behind us. We turned and saw three Innies, armed with SMGs and battle rifles. One was pointing directly at us, while the other two turned in attention. "Waste 'em!"

I looked down and saw a grate on the floor in front of me. Alaska saw it too and looked up at me.

"You thinking what I'm thinking?" he asked. I slammed my boot down onto the ground right in front of the grate, rocketing it up into the air in front of me. Then I pulled my arm back and smashed my fist into it, launching it down the hall at the Innies. The two on the outsides dove to the ground, but the soldier in the middle took the heavy grate directly in the head. I guessed I punched it harder than I thought, because his head just kind of kept going with the grate… while his body fell flat where he was standing.

Alaska chuckled as we pulled out our weapons. "I was thinking about escaping down through that grate," he admitted. "So in answer to my previous question… no."

We took off down the hall, lighting up the other two soldiers and giving them more holes than a pool table. We stopped at the next intersection in the hallway. We spun towards one another and fire at each other. The bullets went over our shoulders and eliminated soldiers trying to run up behind us.

"Good shot," I complimented.

"I know," he replied. I turned my head to the large metal door in front of us. The layout showed the data storage hiding behind it. I nodded to Alaska as I reloaded my assault rifle. I took a deep breath before slamming my boot into the door and rocketing it into the room. We both stormed in, searching for any soldiers guarding the place, but there were none in sight.

"Alaska," I started. "Get that download going." I tucked away my rifle and walked towards a massive console in the centre of the room. I wanted to see if this terminal held any other information inside of its storage. However, as soon as I started to access it, a voice rang out behind us.

"I would step away from that if I were you," he spoke. We turned to see a man standing in the shadows. He had on a black suit with a red tie, his arms folded behind his back. His face was old and thin, with no hair and sharp rectangular glasses that hung off his pointed nose.

"Really?" I asked. "And who are you to make that claim?"

"Gregory Markus," he replied, quickly. "I watch over this facility and the machinery it holds. We figured it was only a matter of time before you came here to try and destroy it, Agent Pennsylvania."

"Well better start looking for a new job," Alaska began, "because we're blowing this place to kingdom…" He stopped as I put my hand up. My eyes were locked on Gregory's. He was staring right through me, with a small smile on his face.

"How do you know who I am?" I asked. He reached up and fixed his glasses while he shook his head.

"Oh, please," he started. "You're famous among the Insurrection, now, Agent. Ever since your little meeting with Mr. Allen, and the messages that relayed back to us before he died. We heard your whole conversation with him. So tell me, Agent Pennsylvania, have you considered what he said?" I ground my teeth together and started to walk towards him.

"I hope your corpse will leave enough of a response," I growled. Suddenly a bright orb of red light appeared behind him and surged through the air towards me, bending the oxygen around it. It slammed into my chest and knocked me backwards onto the floor. Alaska ran from the terminal and pulled out his DMR. His device left sitting on the floor as next to the console as the download continued. He stood next to me as I pushed myself off the ground. We watched as two soldiers stepped out of the shadows behind Gregory.

"That's a shame, Pennsylvania," Gregory spoke. "You could have been more. Look at Flint and Steel here. They are simply examples of what the Insurrection has become." The two appeared to be wearing ODST style armour, but it was thickly padded with the strange metal we saw earlier. Steel grey, which helped them blend into the shadows. Flint had red paint splattered across his, while Steel had gold. Flint's gauntlet was still glowing a bright red, and it soon became clear it was outfitted with a laser blaster by his wrist.

"Penn!" Alaska yelled. "That's the armour. The stuff they're trying to build."

"Trying to build?" Gregory asked. "Or built?" He stepped back and through a doorway behind him, hidden by the shadows. As soon as he passed the frame, the metal door slid down into place, sealing him away.

"Well, look at what we got here!" Flint yelled as he put his hands on his hips. "Two of them Freelancer types!"

"Not to mention the one with the highest bounty on his head!" Steel added. "The one who killed Colonel Allen!" I stood up and clenched my fists.

"Yeah," I muttered. "Killing isn't that hard, guys. Alaska… prove it." Alaska quickly lifted his DMR and fired two shots, each hitting the two soldiers right in their foreheads. The bullets sparked off their armour and clinked harmlessly to the floor. They widened their stances as their gauntlets started to glow, charging the attached laser blasters, which appeared eerily similar to the plasma pistols used by the Covenant infantry. No doubt the technology had been lifted from Covenant weaponry. Suddenly the backs of their suits began changing and two thrusters emerged. They lifted off the ground and hovered in the air. I had never seen suits like these… they could do everything.

"Well then let's do this, big guy!" Steel yelled.

"YEEEEEHAWWWW!" Flint screamed. The two took off through the air and charged straight at us. We jumped out of the way, dodging shots from their blasters in the process. I rolled to my back and started unloading my assault rifle at the two flying men. The bullets riddled the ceiling and rained sparks down over us.

"Penn!" Alaska shouted. "Watch the shooting! We're not done with the download yet, and we can't risk damaging the computers!" I got to my feet and looked down at my gun. Alaska was right… but what was I even thinking? Sure these guys were flying around… but we were in a small room… this gun was holding me back.

I dropped it to the floor and looked forward. Steel was rocketing straight towards me. He held out his arm and a blade extended along his gauntlet, making his forearm into a deadly weapon. I had to time this exactly right. Just as he got to me, I lifted my arm into the air and leaned to one side. He slashed at me, cutting a gash into my chestplate, but not catching my skin. As he was passing me, at chest level, I dropped my arm back down, slamming my elbow into his back and smashing one of his thrusters to bits. He spun out of control and crashed into one of the computer consoles, before falling back to the floor.

"Hey!" Alaska called out. "You using that gun?" He pointed to my assault rifle on the floor. I jumped forward and kicked it like a football, it tumbled through the air and landed perfectly in Alaska's grip. He wheeled around, firing both weapons at Flint. Flint covered his visor from the barrage and started to fly in more of a zigzag pattern. He got low enough to the ground where Alaska could run forward and leap through the air, landing on his back. The two tumbled to the floor in an all-out wrestling match.

"Come here you!" I heard from behind. I turned and dodged a punch thrown by Steel. I threw my own, snapping his head to the side. The armour might have been bullet proof, but it could still feel force. I grabbed his chest plate and lifted him off the ground. Suddenly he threw his arms out and his body started to shake. A massive sonic wave erupted from his suit, knocking me backwards and taking my breath away. Steel jumped onto me and pinned me to the floor. He started ramming his fists into my helmet. My HUD was flashing red and I could see my own vitals spiking. My visor shattered into a spiderweb, obscuring my vision. I freed my left arm and threw it up, smashing it into Steel's chin and knocking him off me. I turned to my side to see Alaska take two shots from Flint's blaster straight in the chest. He chest armour was smoke and glowing a bright red as he crashed to the ground.

**"Penn!"** a voice shouted over the radio. **"Come in, Penn. This is North. The charges are in place and we're just about out. What's your ETA?" **

I looked at Alaska again as Flint stood over him. He reached down and grabbed Alaska's throat, before lifting him off the ground and holding him in the air. I could see Steel getting back to his feet and shaking off my last attack. Blood was dripping into my eyes and mouth from the cuts on my face. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Alaska's device in the corner, downloading the last of the info we needed. This was it. I had to do something. I couldn't let my team fail. Either my name would stay high on the leaderboard… or be erased completely.

"Do it," I commanded.

"What?" Ark asked. "Where are you guys? You're not at the rendezvous location yet."

"Detonate the fucking charges! That's an order!" There was a small silence, where even the massive machinery near us couldn't be heard. This was almost instantly broken by a massive explosion at another location in the facility. Flint stumbled and dropped Alaska down to the ground again. Alaska quickly pulled out a grenade and gripped it tightly.

"I didn't get a say in this?!" he yelled. He jumped up and slammed his boot into Flint's chest, who flew back into the wall behind him. Alaska threw the grenade and then quickly pulled out his pistol. He fired and cracked the grenade just as it hovered right in front of Flint's visor. It exploded, burying him into the metal wall. He peeled himself away and shook off the explosion. I pushed myself to my feet and turned to meet a punch from Steel across my helmet. I coughed and dropped to one knee.

"No say, Alaska!" I yelled. "We have a job to do… we're going to do it!" Alaska grunted as Flint came back and began his attack again.

"I wish I was on Carolina's team!" he yelled. "She's way better at leading than you!"

I felt it… that twinge of pain up my spine. Was he serious?! Carolina was not better than me! Were these Insurrectionists afraid of her? NO! I was the feared one! I was the powerful one! Steel loaded up another punch and threw it down at me. I looked up and grabbed his fist out of the air. I stood up and torqued my arm inwards, spinning his whole arm around. Then I rammed my knee upwards into his elbow, shattering it and cocking his arm in a direction it should never go. Steel jumped backwards and grabbed his arm in distress. There was another explosion and the entire bunker began to shake as more and more machinery fell apart in the next room.

**"That place is going down in three minutes!"** Ark yelled. **"Get your asses out of there!"**

**"I'm going in!"** North yelled.

**"No!"** South chimed in. **"It's suicide!"**

"Stay at your posts!" I commanded. "Al and I will be fine. Don't worry about us!" I ran up to Steel and grabbed his chest, thrusting him into the wall. I pulled my right arm back while my left held him in place.

His armour turned teal in my eyes, and his stressed appearance gave way to arrogance and superiority. I started ramming my fist into his helmet, over and over and over again. I could feel my knuckles shattering, but I didn't stop. The bullet-proof metal began to dent inwards, more and more each time. He struggled against the attack as his helmet got tighter and tighter to his face. I continued to lay into him, until I felt it, the helmet stop moving as it pressed against his skull. I pulled back one more time and put all my anger behind it. I felt the bone within my forearm split with the pressure, but Steel's helmet caved in and a shower of blood erupted from the seams along his neck. I pulled my arm away in pain and dropped the corpse to the ground. Suddenly a massive piece of machinery came smashing through the wall in an explosion of metal and fire.

"Alaska," I yelled. "This place is collapsing! Let's go! Grab the data!"

"Busy!" he replied. He continued to fight with Flint, both exchanging the upper hand. I looked at the machinery behind me, seeing the conveyer belt feeding in to a twisted concoction of broken metal and fire. I ran towards the two and grabbed Flint by the shoulders. I held his arms back and left his chest vulnerable to attack.

"Grenade!" I yelled. Alaska tilted his head as Flint started to struggle. "Grenade!" Alaska ripped out another grenade and threw it. Again he jumped backwards and fired his pistol, detonating it in the air in front of us. Flint and I went flying backwards, him landing on top of me. I used the momentum to throw my legs up and launch him back into the machinery. The conveyer belt wrapped around his wrist and started to drag him into the machine. Flint clawed at the metal around him, trying to fight against the metal monster.

"NO NO NO!" He disappeared into the mouth of the machine as metal and flesh tore away from him, before the entire piece of machinery erupted into a massive fireball, knocking Alaska and I back.

Alaska quickly grabbed his device off the floor and ran to my side. He pulled me to my feet and we took off out the door. The fire and shards of metal followed right behind us in hot pursuit as the base began to collapse in on itself. We could see the exit coming up. The fire was wrapping around us, heating our armour to the point that they were burning the skin on our backs. We jumped as we reached the door and cinematically flew from the bunker in an eruption of fire, crashing onto the dirt and rolled a few times before stopping and lying motionless. Alaska shook his head and few times and pushed himself to his knees. He coughed some blood onto the inside of his visor as Ark, North, and South ran to us.

"Meh… not so bad," he muttered. I also got to my knees and held my right forearm to my chest. The pain was starting to set it now that the adrenaline was wearing off. But we did it. We had the data, and the base was destroyed. My place on the leaderboard was still intact. Speaking of which. There was still something on my mind.

"Hey… Al," I called out. He looked at me, both of us taking deep breaths and definitely covered in sweat under the armour. "You really want to be on Carolina's team instead?" Alaska turned his head away from me and shook it. He laughed for a bit. Not chuckled… not snickered… laughed. Then he dropped backwards and laid flat on the dirt.

"No… I just said that to get you pissed off. Trust me. Working with Carolina… wouldn't be nearly this much fun." I nodded and got to my feet. I walked to him and reached out my arm. He took my hand and I pulled him to a standing position.

"Killing stuff," I muttered. "To be honest… it's all I really know how to do."


	63. Chapter 62: Not Exactly Textbook

**(A/N) Hey guys, just bringing you all the latest update for Phase One: Genesis, and it's a chapter from the POV from the quiet, but deadly, Agent Minnesota, as the agents left behind engage in a Simulation Mission while the others combat the Insurrection.**

**The list for accepted authors will go up this time tomorrow, and I just want to thank everyone who've applied. It hasn't been easy, and some decisions have really torn me, and it's with a heavy heart that I'll have to turn a few people away. However, I do think we've come to the correct decisions, and for those that don't make it, there's always next time. I, of course, will be prepared to let people know what they can do to improve for the next round of applications. While they will be a bit off, they will include Wash, so I'm already a bit excited for it.**

**Anyway, enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter Sixty-Two – Not Exactly Textbook**

**Agent Minnesota**

**Written by XxXshadowkitsuXxX**

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'"_I don't want to be a man," said Jace. "I want to be an angst-ridden teenager who can't confront his own inner demons and takes it out verbally on other people instead."_

_"Well," said Luke, "you're doing a fantastic job."' _― Cassandra Clare, City of Ashes

* * *

The Pelican ride to Sidewinder here was nothing but a blur. I had been running every strategy, every tactic I could possibly think of. After leaving us to freeze in this ridiculous training site, York led us to the blue base where our 'V.I.P.s' were waiting for us. Four blue soldiers stood at the entrance as we approached. They all carried different weapons and side-arms, one even carried a sniper rifle, although I doubt he knew how to use it. I was armed with my own sniper rifle and pistol while Michigan wielded a Marine Rifle and two SMGs, York carried his trademark shotgun and a single SMG on his hip.

We entered their poor excuse for a base and York immediately went into Leader mode, which is how he always was but a little bit more serious. He started talking and joking around with some of the simulation troopers while Michigan and I waited for our orders.

"Is this guy for real?" Mich whispered to me.

I just answered with a shrug. While I respected York as a leader and a friend, I had to agree his... methods were too laid back for my taste. I'm use to my commanding officer barking orders left and right at everyone, not having fun. After a brief laugh he finally turned his attention back to us.

"You guys ready? This is gonna be harder than before."

"Bow-chicka-bow-wow!" one of the blues said, laughing to himself.

Michigan and I merely glared at him before turning back to York. These guys were going to be a handful.

"Here's the plan. I will stay here with two of the Blues while you each take one and lead an assault on the Reds. How you do that is up to you. If you need back up, just give me a quick call and we'll be there as soon as possible. Now play nice and try not to kill each other." I could feel the smile under his helmet.

As much as I wanted to ditch her and do this on my own, I needed Mich's help. It would take at least both of us to take down to Project's top snipers in a place like this, not to mention we still had to deal with Massa after that. Grabbing the Blue with the sniper rifle, I exited outside and waited for Mich.

She was reluctantly bringing the Blue that had interrupted York with her. "He was the only one left. York grabbed the other two. So you go do your thing and I'll do mine. Got it?"

"Look, we need to plan. We can't charge in head on against these guys. There's a reason why they're high up on the leaderboard. I know you don't like working with me, but we have to tough it out and complete the mission," I explained.

I thought she was going to ignore me and walk away, but logic must have finally taken over. "Got any ideas?"

"I might have a few. Follow me."

We explored the area close by before we came upon an underground passage. It split off two ways, but I led us deeper into it. It ended with a grated area with a small gap between it and the ground.

"Can you squeeze through there?" I asked Mich.

She walked up to it, "Only one way to find out."

I watched as she wormed her way underneath to the other side.

"My turn!" her blue follower exclaimed as he tried to slide under it only to stop halfway.

"You're stuck aren't you?" I asked.

"Maybe..."

I pulled him back out to my side and helped him up before turning to Mich. "Head towards the base. Try and find Massa and the Reds. I'll distract the snipers and provide cover from somewhere."

She gave a swift nod before taking off. I led the two Blues out down the path we hadn't taken. I motioned for them to stay low, when I realized they had no clue what I was doing.

"Just get over here and stay quiet." I almost face-palmed as they lay on the ground and crawled over. At least it was better than nothing.

I came up to a tunnel that appeared to go straight through to the other side of the icy wall. Telling the troopers to stay put, I crawled down the tunnel cautiously enough to see over the edge of the cliff on the other side. There was no movement, but I could make out a reddish dot in the distance. Through my scope I could easily see the red soldier, but no one else.

I knew he was there somewhere. "Where are you hiding, Wyoming?" I muttered to myself.

There was a slight shift in the snow that caught my attention. I zoomed in closer to barely see the tip of a rifle barrel sticking out of a pile of snow, aimed right at us. I didn't know whether to be impressed or frustrated. Since he wasn't firing, I was assuming that he hadn't noticed me. As I pressed myself as close to the ground as possible, an idea popped in my head.

I called York. "Hey, is Wyoming right-handed or left-handed?"

"Right, why?" he answered, a trace of confusion in his voice.

"Just wondering." I shut off the radio. "Hey, toss me your sniper rifle."

The trooper looked at it then back to me, "I don't know..."

"I'm not going to kill anyone. Just a little test I want to try."

Hesitantly, he slid it to me. Propping both rifles on their stands, which no one ever seemed to use, I aimed one on Wyoming, and one on the Red. I pointed the borrowed rifle just a few hairs to the left of the barrel trained on me. My rifle was aimed directly at the oblivious Red crouching against the wall. From the looks of it, he was just looking around with his Battle Rifle in his hands. Poor guy didn't know what was coming.

Making sure both were aimed just right, I fired them at the same time. Quickly looking down the scopes, I assessed the damage. The Red was lying on his side in armour lock, but the pile of snow hadn't moved except now a small chunk was missing. Something wasn't right.

"Did you get them?" One of my Blues stood up to try and see.

"Get down you idiot!" I hissed. Timed seemed to slow as I realized what happened.

Virginia popped out from behind a large boulder next to the pile of snow. Before I could react, she fired and hit the idiot blue. Using the loss as an opportunity, I fired both sniper rifles at her. There was a spray of blood from her left shoulder before she fell over stiff. This wasn't good. If that had been Virginia's trap, where was Wyoming? My senses were telling he was close by but nothing was on my sensors.

Another idea popped into my head as I crawled back to my other Blue. I took off all the armour on my right arm, exposing it to numbing sting of the cold. Not one of my brightest plans, but it would work. I crouched next to my partner.

"Let's get back to base." He gave no response.

I waved my hand in front of him, nothing. I gave him a small push, he fell over stiff. Son of a... There was a bang and I felt my armour lock up. There was shuffling behind me.

"Well chap, looks like you still have some things to learn before playing with us." he laughed as he gave me a shove on my helmet. I fell to my side, hiding the fact I had no armour on my right arm.

As he walked away, he came into view. He and a Red were heading towards our base. Pulling out my pistol, I emptied my clip in their general direction since I couldn't aim at the moment. I smirked in pure happiness as Wyoming and his buddy froze in place, a strong breeze knocking them over. Arrogant British prick. Now all I could do was wait.

* * *

"You're insane. Why would you take off your armour?!" Massa yelled in my ear as she looked over my arm.

"It worked," I simply answered.

Everything was over and done with. Michigan had taken Massa and her two troopers by surprise, managing to take out her and one of the Reds before the other had shot her in the leg, and ran away. After much coaxing from York, he finally surrendered giving us the win.

Now that we were free from our protective prisons, Massa took it upon herself to make sure there was no serious damage done. She'd patched up a brooding Virginia, who kept sending me death glares, and fixed Mich's ankle to the best of her abilities. When she noticed me holding my numb arm and removed armour she went into a hissy fit.

She smacked me upside the head, "It was stupid and reckless."

"In case you haven't noticed, stupid and reckless is how I do things."

I smirked as she shook her head. After making sure I wasn't going to suffer any permanent damage to my limb, Massa gave me permission to join the others, who were all hanging out inside or out of the now fully occupied blue base waiting for our ride home.

"You coming?" she asked as she started to walk away.

"I'm fine. I don't mingle well."

She gave me a disappointed look before coming back to sit with me in my corner of the base with me.

"I thought you were going outside with the others." I pulled out my knife from it spot on my left shoulder, examining it. It's usually what I did to pass time.

"I refuse to let you hide in your corner by yourself. Don't you want someone to talk to?" she sat in a chair across from me.

It's not that I didn't want to talk, it's that I don't know what to talk about. I've spent most of my life shooting things trying to kill me, trivial things like sports and other people's interests weren't things that held my attention. If she wanted to talk, then she could talk.

Massa just sat there watching me toying with my knife. "Why do sit by yourself most of the time? You don't seem like the type to lash out at friends like two certain giants we know."

"Other people just complicate things. My life has been nothing but doing what I'm told, when I'm told, and to the best of my abilities whether I like it or not. The time between assignments is just more time to prepare for the next one."

She shook her head, "You sound just like Carolina. I not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing yet."

I put away my knife. "If it gets me to the top of the leaderboard I don't care."

A moment of silence passed before either one of us said anything. I don't care what these people think of me. As long as I get my name on the top and prove to them, to everyone, that I am important. Especially to _him_, screw the Director and the Counselor. If I can show him what I'm capable of, it will be the greatest day of my life.

"Hey, you okay?" Massa asked, a concerned look on her face.

I had momentarily forgotten about her. "Yeah, I'm fine."

"You know if you need to talk about something, I'm here for you. I'm sure York and some of the others are too."

It just doesn't make sense to me. Why would they want to help me when I'm their competition? Maybe they don't care about the board. Then why is it there? If we aren't supposed to prove ourselves to each other, then why bother trying? I can't wrap my head around it.

"Yeah, I know. I'll try and remember." I could hear the dull roar of a Pelican outside.

"Sounds like it's time to head home," she said as we started to leave.

"Thanks for hanging back with me."

"No problem. It's what friends are for," she said, smiling slightly.

Friends. The more I think about it, the more it sounds like a good idea. Maybe this time having a few might help. It's worth a try. I looked over our little group huddle in the Pelican. I know I can count on York and Massa. Mich, well I guess she's not as bad as I originally thought. Virginia was still shooting me death glares and I'm not sure me and Wyoming would get along. I'm not too big on knock-knock jokes. I guess they aren't as bad as I thought. It's always felt like the world is out to get me. Maybe, I've been the one out to get the world. I had a lot to think about.

For once, I hoped the flight would take a little longer.


	64. Chapter 63: The Good Column

**(A/N) Hey all! Time for our Saturday update, or at least I hope it's Saturday...days have kind of been blurring together lately. But that's summer for you! Anyway, it's time for a new chapter, and this one is for everyone's favourite locksmith, Agent New York! WargishBoromirFan will, from now on, be taking the character over from Maple Alycia Hood, who's moved over to our X-Ray and Vav fic as a writer! **

**We've got our group of writers for Phase Two, so, if you weren't aware, applications are now closed. I'm really excited to get started there, and to introduce our new writers and characters, but we've got a good way to go in this fic before we can start thinking of that! ;)**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter Sixty-Three - The Good Column**

**Agent New York**

**Written by WargishBoromirFan**

* * *

_"Mercy is the mark of a __great__ man. … See how I'm not punching him?"_ - Malcolm Reynolds, "_Shindig_"

* * *

York kept his eyes on the sky, hands behind his head and weaponry tucked away neatly on his back as the ship came down. He was partially tempted to take his helmet off and feel the cold breeze on his skin while he was still on planet to enjoy it, but he didn't want anything slowing him down as he made his way back to the aboard, so buffeting wind through his armour it was.

"No need for fidgeting, York," Wyoming said from his left. "I'm not aiming at you anymore, at least for the nonce."

York shifted, putting weight over the foot he'd been unconsciously jiggling. "Sorry, I'm just eager to see how the other missions went, I guess." He gave the rest of the group a sheepish grin behind the visor. Massa shook her head, arms crossed before her, though her taller roommate seemed almost as fixated on their ride back home as he'd been.

"Eager to see how Carolina did, especially," Massa summarized, and York felt a hint of heat on his face that wasn't from Eris's weak sun.

"Better than you guys, I'll bet," Mich spoke up, riding high on their win. All in all, the training exercise had been a good thing. It gave Minnesota and Michigan that little extra confidence boost, gave Massa and Virginia an excuse for changing into their armour so early in the morning, and had been a welcome distraction from sitting around his room, driving Wyoming crazy as they waited for word on the Insurrection missions.

It wasn't that York was worried, really; all the agents sent on both missions were perfectly capable, and the team-ups ought to work out well. (Ark had been sent with Penn and Alaska and wouldn't bring up any intra-team challenges with them, but then Ark had always been the best at keeping Georgia to sane plans, but at least the man would probably take orders as long as Carolina issued them but would Cal pay attention and follow her commands as long as he didn't have Sota and Mich to run off with? Not that the other two agents weren't good at their jobs, just very independent and for the love of all that was good in this universe he hoped Florida had stayed in charge of the heavy explosives…) But all of the remaining freelancers had really needed something to shoot at.

Unfortunately, Virginia looked like she could still use a little target practice to blow off steam and Mich had presented her with a sitting, squawking duck. "You better hope your little friends did better than you. If they'd broken cover like that in the middle of a real battle, with a whole squad of Innies firing at them with real bullets… they weren't dealing with just me, Massa, and Wyoming with paint rounds and a couple of idiot simulation troopers to baby-sit." Her six-foot frame leaned well over the smaller woman in lavender.

"Stealing a rifle from your lackey certainly wasn't very sporting," Wyoming added conversationally, as if it were merely a minor annoyance and not a threat of things to come. "Don't expect that to offer you an advantage next time."

"We just knew how to take an opportunity when we see it," Sota backed his teammate up. While York couldn't argue with the results, Sota's use of live ammo with his armour off in the snow had seemed like taking an emergent opportunity too far. It wasn't to Penn's level, since nobody had gotten killed, but the shadows of Pennsylvania's initial training runs loomed uncomfortably, painted in dried blood on Virginia's armour. And it wasn't like York hadn't been in a position to stop it before a single shot had been fired.

They'd won, so who was York to complain, but privately, he had to agree that for a guy who lived for respect, Minnesota didn't always show it for the rules or the other people around him. Which shouldn't bother York, what with the deeper extremes they'd face on the battlefield, but it still itched uncomfortably at that winning feeling. Was it better to have a good loss? "If you're too shell-shocked to move, I'm sure we can leave you here with the rest of the burnouts."

That went too far. York didn't even have to see Massa's expression or the way she automatically put a hand to her right elbow to know it hadn't struck only his own nerves. Wyoming had come to stand next to Virginia's shoulder, even as the tallest woman placed herself firmly between the rookies and her roommate, reaching with deliberate casualness for the rifle strapped to her back.

"Hey," York pulled Sota back before Virginia decided on another method of stepping him down a notch, "those sim troopers are serving as well as they can, and so are we." Besides, a lot of the Reds and Blues could be pretty entertaining to hang out with, as long as you didn't offend their zealous tastes in colour pallet. Well, York did understand liking certain shades of blue that he couldn't quite put a name to. And red. And especially a specific hue of electric green. You didn't insult those, even in jest. "We're doing a training mission to practice, build up our skills, not rip each other to pieces. Let's keep it to lockdown ammo and get back on the nice big spaceship heading our way."

And hopefully to clear answers as to what had happened to the other teams. Sota shook off his hand, but didn't aggravate the other team any further verbally.

Even once it settled with ungainly delicacy into the dock, the _Mother of Invention_ still kicked up a lot of wind. All that power was made for the depths of space, not sitting about some backwater, waiting on the rest of her crew. She was probably safer here in the command hub of "Freelancer City", techs fussing all over her hard outer hull during this rare downtime, but she was meant for traveling the depths, for the fight, for conquering anything that stood in her way, and York was just glad that she'd appeared to have come back in one piece, offering him a place to fight alongside her once more. It was nice to get back to the ship, too.

The reunited training teams humped it to the boarding ramp, York and Michigan leading the way. The snipers from opposite sides were probably still eyeing each other suspiciously behind their backs, but as long as they kept any fights to mental combat, York would look the other way for now. The Director and Counselor weren't there to meet them at the ramp, but at least one familiar face sat by the entrance, cleaning black spots and tape off of his helmet. Not all of the black marks looked like permanent ink from their party last night. Maine was also awaiting them slightly further in, pacing like a jungle cat behind bars, Georgia his reluctant keeper, but the big man offered little acknowledgement as the training teams made their way to the ramp.

"Hey, y'all," Georgia greeted them absently, his smile distracted when he at last looked up from his work. "How'd it go?"

"We won!" Mich told him, a new wave of good cheer bringing her onboard as she greeted her fellow newbie - though York wasn't sure if Georgia, Maine, Cal, Ark, and the twins could be called rookies after their missions today. Even without any hitches in the plan, first blood changed a person. He remembered the experience all too well. "Sota and I kicked ass; we'll be heading out with you guys next time for sure. Unless you get left behind for being too far down on the leaderboard," she teased him, offering the green-armoured man a playful bump to the shoulder.

Georgia looked far more hurt than Michigan's contact warranted, and the green and pink-armoured engineer had never seemed all that worried about his thirteenth place on the leaderboard, so long as he could provide unique skills to get the Director's notice. Above them, Maine narrowed his eyes and shook his head. "I guess the burning question on everyone's mind is how your missions went," York ventured carefully.

"Mission accomplished," Georgia replied, though the victory in his voice sounded hollow. "Blew up real good. Penn 'n' Ark got their plans and everything."

"Everybody okay?" Massa asked, stepping around Virginia.

"Yeah," Georgia lifted a weight off of York's shoulders, "well, yeah, everybody except her." And it crashed back down. While he didn't wish any harm upon South, either, the pessimistic side of York severely doubted that Georgia was talking about her. He wouldn't be waiting at the ramp if something had happened to South; he'd probably be laid out in the next bed over, hurt even worse. "I keep thinking, if I'd just said something, if I hadn't been so enamoured with the bombs, she'd still be here and ready to shoot…"

"Dude, are you still going on about that cannon? Maine, if he keeps bitching, smack him for me," California called from further back in the airlock, letting York breathe again.

Maine saluted in response, but Wyoming gave a slight bow as the British sniper proffered his own much closer services. "Found Georgia ill-equipped for the attack, what?"

"I swear, we already had to listen to geek tragedy the whole way home; that is why you got left on door-greeter duty," Cal told his teammate.

"Just because her design was flawed doesn't mean we couldn't've fired her once! At least at the Innie base!"

"It was in the middle of the Innie base!"

"My point exactly!"

While normally York would help Massa and the quickly approaching Florida calm the argument down and promise Georgia that he could build his own MAC cannon as long as he stopped sulking and annoying the other Freelancers, offering Cal, Maine, and Wyoming one hit each, the man in tan had other business to attend to at the moment. He jogged up the ramp, leaving Sota and Michigan to catch up with California and crow about their victory, Massa to distract herself with defusing the tension, Virginia to back her up physically as Florida stepped up to support her psychologically, and Wyoming to undermine Massa and Florida's efforts for his own amusement. Hopefully, they'd all be in one piece later. At least he'd gotten the chance to see them in one piece.

Carolina was cloistered with Penn, the Counselor, and the Director when York made his way all through to the command bridge. The rest of Penn's team was waiting outside for their debriefings, but some of them were taking it more seriously than others. South kicked her heels like a bored delinquent waiting outside the principal's office, while Alaska stared at old dents in the hallway just beyond the door as if attempting to divine the origins of each one. North, at least, was making some attempt at protocol, but his frequent glances at his sister rather ruined the formality of it. Ark kept to his seat, posture a comfortable at-ease, but if Georgia had been in mourning, Arkansas was… well, that was the most satisfied smile York had seen a guy wearing in a long time.

"I take it it went well," York said, glancing at the twins once more. South wasn't paying Ark any attention, but she didn't seem to be purposely ignoring him, either. Probably wasn't that, then, but a guy could be forgiven for mistaking it for that if all he'd had to work with was the black agent's expression.

"Yeah," Ark said, melting into his seat with lazy euphoria, "I'd have to mark today in the 'good day' column."

Finally, Carolina poked her head out of the briefing room. "Oh, York, you're back," she noted absently. "Train the circus monkeys yet?"

"Well, not entirely," he admitted. Sota's initiative probably would not get her ringing endorsement, even if it had won this round. "I haven't gotten them on the little unicycles yet. But the mission went well."

"Good. We can get started on the Director's next objective early, then." She offered him a light smile as she sent the rest of Penn's team in and left to gather her own squad. Yep, today definitely fell under the good column, York decided.


	65. Chapter 64: Hits and Misses

**(A/N) Hey guys, it's time for our Monday update, and today we have another Michigan chapter, written by the brilliant TunelessLyric! Some big announcements coming up in a few weeks, but not going to give anything away for now, just telling you all to keep an eye out!**

**Also, just wanted to let you all know that we've set up a forum for roleplaying, in kind of a quasi-continuity with this fic and its sequels! We accept all writers, so, if you're interested in RP-ing, head over an check it out!**

**As always, enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter Sixty-Four – Hits And Misses**

**Agent Michigan**

**Written by TunelessLyric**

* * *

_"Be miserable. Or motivate yourself, whatever has to be done, it's always your choice." _- Wayne Dyer

* * *

Mich was standing in the tight room with the others. The Director pressed a button on the console before him and six names appeared on the giant screen at the head of the room. All of the sixteen assembled agents leaned forward eagerly, all hoping to see their name up there. Carolina nodded in self-satisfaction as soon as she saw her name at the top. Penn made no reaction when he read his in the second position. York remained third. Alaska tipped his chin up arrogantly at the same time Wyoming's shoulders loosened, the two having switched places to sit at fourth and fifth respectively. Virginia made only a small noise upon realizing she had dropped down to sixth.

Michigan wondered why they had all been called together if none of the new Freelancers hadn't made the top six yet. She let the annoyance smoulder in her chest, acknowledging how she felt before taking a breath and letting it go. Being emotional in front of all these people would be bad. She would just have to track down the full list as soon as they were allowed to leave.

"Well, that was enlightening," Cal said dryly. Clearly, Mich wasn't the only one who was left frustrated that the newer agents weren't good enough.

The Director fixed Cal with a hard glare. "You are dismissed."

"Hey, everybody," said Georgia, "I have a great idea. We should all go and check the whole list. You know, like a team."

Mich stepped back, not caring either way if the older Freelancers went with them or if she had to go alone. A short flurry of discussion followed and in a few minutes, the eight rookie agents and two remaining original ones all headed to the mess hall to check their standings.

North and South led the way, Mich bringing up the rear. The rookie team practically ran to the mess hall, despite their outward appearance of indifference, they were all eager to see how they had improved. Mich speculated where she now rested. She had helped win the latest sim mission with Sota and York, but would that be enough to boost her above the others who had gone on the trip to the Insurrection base? What if Sota, who had been on her team and the only Freelancer below her previously on the Board, had surpassed her? What if Mich would find her name beside the ugly 16 this round?

She nearly collided with Georgia, barely managing to draw herself from her deep thoughts and pull up before running into him. She realized they were in the main cafeteria now. Mich craned her neck to see over the others.

_7. North Dakota_

_8. South Dakota_

_9. Massachusetts_

_10. Florida_

Well, Mich could find it within herself to feel proud of the twins for beating the two other original agents later. At least now, the first eight would have to work harder. They would know that the rookies are not to be messed with.

_11. Maine_

_12. Arkansas_

She kept reading, a little hurt that she was in the bottom quarter still. If only she had been assigned to the Innie facility mission instead of play-fighting a third time.

_13. Michigan_

_14. Georgia_

_15. Minnesota_

_16. California_

Mich heaved a sigh of relief. She moved up two places! She could live with that. Mich nodded once and turned to measure the others' reactions.

The Dakotas wore matching expressions of triumph. Massa looked as though she was trying not to burst out, thinly veiled hurt in her eyes. Florida shrugged. "Well, there's still lots of room for improvement," he reasoned. His injury on the earlier mission must have been what had dragged his placing down.

Maine seemed ready to explode. Mich understood that he had been chosen to go to the MAC facility. Still, it wasn't as though it had gotten worse.

Ark accepted that his ranking hadn't changed with little reaction. Georgia allowed a small smile to curve his lips at the evidence of his improvement.

Sota looked relieved he wasn't at the very bottom anymore.

California's mouth dropped open. "Well that's just_ perfect_."

Mich quietly left the room. She had done what she needed to do. Now it was time for a little break before her training match. She went back to the room she shared with Carolina. Two places. If only she had been able to prove her worth in a better way. Mich knew the Director wouldn't be content with only that tiny improvement. Not while she was still so near to the bottom.

Mich sat on her bed and read for an hour or so. After that, she was just leaving the room, wondering where Carolina was when F.I.L.S.S. chirped happily to her.

"What's up?" she asked.

"The Director has announced that your training session will be hand-to-hand combat. You will face Agent Maine and be partnered with Agent California."

"Thank you, F.I.L.S.S., I'm going to get ready now."

Michigan went to her locker room. Inside, she met California. His mouth was set in a tight line. He was more shaken by his sudden drop than in first appeared. The whole time Mich was in the room with him, getting her armour on for the session, he didn't say a word. He just waited for her to finish before sweeping from the room ahead of her.

She followed his disappearing figure through the short hall to the main training floor. He was already inside, bouncing on the balls of his feet when she entered. Maine was on the far side of the arena, stretching his arms. Mich fought down a smile at the sight of all the white armour with warm-coloured accents.

"All Freelancers have assembled. Match beginning in two minutes," announced F.I.L.S.S.

"Cal," Mich called. She beckoned him over.

He jogged to her and threw her a _what?_ body posture. His hands were turned out, palms almost facing the wall behind Mich, one shoulder raised in a half-shrug and head tilted.

"I'm not even going to touch the fact that you're annoyed by the rankings today," she began.

"That's great," he snarked. "I appreciate that."

Mich depolarized her visor, showing him her impatient features. "But," she ploughed on, "I need your head in the game. Maine is not going to go easy on us, he's still angry over the fact that he didn't improve. I get that you got worse, but here's your chance to show the Director that you don't deserve your crappy rank. If we win, we're going to get better ranks next time. So, show him that you should be higher on his precious Board."

Cal's shoulders dropped and he stood taller. "You're right."

Mich polarized her faceplate again before he could see her darkening cheeks. Her face grew warm when his posture became proud rather than beaten down. She shook the feeling away. It was time to fight.

Maine signalled he was ready. Mich acknowledged him with a dip of her chin. "Here's the plan," she said to Cal. "Flank left, do your thing. I'll take his right and come up more from behind. While he's focused on you, I'll incapacitate him."

"Got it," replied Cal.

"Session beginning," sang F.I.L.S.S. "Good luck, agents!"

Cal charged forward, fists raised, and collided hard with Maine. Mich followed more slowly. This had to look good to the Director, or else he wouldn't give them as much credit. As she neared the two grappling Freelancers, Mich cracked her fingers individually.

She watched Cal unleash a flurry of sharp jabs to Maine's abdomen. Maine lowered his guard reflexively, trying to sweep away Cal's legs. The white and red agent dodged the counter attack and threw a powerful sucker punch at Maine's jaw. The larger man reeled back and swatted Cal away.

"Are you coming, or what?" Cal asked, signature sarcasm drawling in her ear.

Instead of offering an excuse or reply, Mich skirted around behind the white and orange Freelancer. She saw Maine kick at Cal as he drew near enough to attack again. Mich gave up hope of a quick victory and leaped at him, giving Cal enough time to regroup.

Maine twisted to meet her with a backhanded blow that glanced off her shoulder. Mich stepped forward and delivered a swift punt at the side of his knees. The hit that would have made any other person double over or fall to the ground only served to make him growl. Maine grabbed her arm and bent it out at the elbow, the way the joint was _not_ supposed to bend.

Pain lacing through her, Mich pounded hard on his fingers. They tightened, viselike, around her wrist and upper arm. She gritted her teeth and kicked again at his knee. Maine pulled her tight against his chest to make it hard for her to land any more blows.

"Hey, why don't you pick on someone your own size?"

Cal's taunt made the massive agent turn around. The smaller man fell on him, leaving punches on the side of the EVA helmet and trailing them down to the more exposed lower back. Mich took advantage of the momentary distraction and wiggled free.

"You're not so tough, are you?" Cal's voice doesn't let up, the taunting and sharp attacks blending together.

Maine's back was turned to Mich again. This time, she stretched up as tall as she could and snaked her arms around his neck and shoulders. She tightened her grip, elbow protesting, and pulled herself flush against Maine. Using his weight to pin him to her smaller body, Mich held on while Cal continued to hammer away at his front.

After only a moment, Maine got his foot up stiffly and it connected with Cal's chest. The white and red agent let out a grunt and fell back. He shook his head roughly as though to clear it. Then Mich's attention was dragged back to the squirming man in her grasp. Maine delivered a searing jab to her side that made Mich release him.

By this time, Cal had jumped back at their opponent. He caught Maine's arm before he could assault Mich again. Maine turned and slammed a fist into Cal's chest again, sensing it was a weaker spot. Cal dropped to his knees, Maine looming over him. Mich leaped on the large man's back and unbalanced him. The two tumbled to the ground with a screech of armour on polycrete floor. Mich knew if Maine got her pinned, it would be over. She flailed around, somehow managing to remain on top of him. She pummelled the area of his helmet protecting his ears, doing her best to disorient him.

Cal pushed Mich down and set her on Maine's wildly kicking legs to help hold him. Her partner took her position on the other man's chest and shoved his hands against the floor. Maine struggled for another full minute before going limp under the two Freelancers.

"Training match complete, the winners are Agents California and Michigan."

At F.I.L.S.S.'s voice, Mich hopped off Maine. Not a moment too soon because the defeated agent surged to his feet, throwing off Cal and batting him aside. Maine stalked from the room without acknowledging their win. Mich was distracted from his foul mood and poor sportsmanship when Cal let out a hacking cough.

She whirled and saw him on all fours, limbs shaking. As Mich looked on, Cal's body shuddered and spasms rippled through him. She threw herself down next to him as he flopped onto the ground, scrabbling at his neck. Mich hauled his helmet off. Cal let out another harsh cough. Mich recoiled when a sticky, red liquid splattered against her visor. Fear and worry threaded through her like ice.

"Medic!" she called. She ripped off her helmet so she could see again. She flipped him onto his side and tried to remember what to do in a situation like this. "F.I.L.S.S., get a med team down here!"

Cal convulsed again and his throat worked, trying to expel more bloody fluid. He went limp under Mich's hands. She cautiously released her hold on him.

"I'm good," he rasped faintly. Cal slowly sat up and turned his head. He spit out a globule of red, glaring at it in distaste and wiping clinging strands from his chin. "I'm okay."

"I don't know where_ you_ were, but_ I_ just watched a teammate spasm and cough up blood," Mich retorted sourly. "_I _had to hold him down. I think we should wait for the medics before we pass any judgment on your health."

A pained and impatient expression darkened his face. "I got hurt a long time ago. Maine just brought this attack on by pummelling me so hard," he explained. "Thanks for that, by the way."

Mich stood and stalked halfway across the arena before he could stop her. He just had a mini seizure and was already back to his old and aggravating self.

"Wait, I'm sor –" the shout was interrupted by another wet-sounding hacking fit. Mich spun on her heel, suddenly anxious for the annoying Freelancer.

"Are you all right?" she asked in concern, hurrying back to where Cal was sprawled on the polycrete to catch his breath again.

He nodded breathlessly.

The doors slid open to admit a handful of medics, lead by a man so colourful, it seemed like a rainbow had attacked and demanded money from him. Killian Jay bustled over and took an eyeful of Cal, blood dribbling down his chin again, before pushing Mich back a ways.

Cal protested to the medic weakly. A long moment stretched between the group in the training room. Killian introduced himself – as if anyone could forget him – and looked the stricken man over. Mich craned her neck to see over the congregation. Killian lifted Cal to his feet. Cal took a few shaky steps unaided and flashed Mich a painful smile. It made for a gruesome sight, dark blood spotting his teeth.

Cal and Killian made a short loop around the floor, the agent not wavering. Satisfied, the medics left, only Killian sparing a backward glance before leaving. "You had better be more careful," he said darkly. There was an obviously omitted _or else_ hanging in the air.

Mich was left standing right where she had been when the medics came running in. "All fixed?"

Cal scuffed the floor with his boot and bent to retrieve his helmet. "I told you I was okay, didn't I?"

Rather than dignify that with a response, Mich turned to go.

He seemed to sense his misstep. "Okay, I'm sorry. I should have been more careful, it was all my fault," he snarled. "Will that do?"

She whirled around, blazing with fury. "No. That will not _do_," she spat. "I was worried about you, okay? What would you think if I began spasming and coughing body fluids right now? You scared me half out of my mind!"

Cal nodded and sighed. "I'm just not used to everyone needing to know every detail about me. It happened years ago and it has been a long time since my last episode…" he trailed off.

Mich swallowed her rage. "I get it. I overreacted, but I didn't know better. Next time, I'll just let you hack up a lung or die."

His face rearranged into a smirk. "Did you just say something funny? I must be rubbing off on you."

She just moved to leave, shaking her head. "Scary, I know."

For some reason, being alone in the arena with Cal made Mich's ears hot. At the same time, however, she didn't really want to leave. She shook the feeling away and headed back to the locker room.

"Hey!" Cal shouted after her.

Mich spun around. "What do you need?" The words didn't come out as sharply as she wanted them to.

The white and red Freelancer was hurrying after her, lavender helmet in his hands. "You forgetting something?"

She let him catch up to her, looking at the drying blood on her helmet's visor in distaste. Cal held it out to her expectantly. Mich took it gingerly, not wanting to smear any of the mess on the rest of her armour. She held it up to him in a kind of toast. "Thanks."

He dipped his chin. "I figured you'd be needing it in the near future."

Mich wrinkled her nose at the faceplate. "This isn't going to be fun to clean off," she muttered.

Cal shrugged. "You could always try the shower," he suggested.

"The shower?" She threw him a look.

"Unless you'd rather lick it off."

"Stop. Just stop right there. Not funny," said Mich, holding up a hand. "That's enough."

He didn't make any further comment. Instead, Cal continued to stride down the corridor in the direction of the locker rooms like he owned the ship. Mich had to jog to keep up with him; his legs were nearly a foot longer than hers.

In no time at all, the two agents were inside the shower, fully armoured except for helmets. Mich held hers awkwardly under the first shower head.

"If this stunt makes my armour rust," he said with a hint of a smile, "I'm blaming you."

She glared at him, incredulous. "Blame me? This was all because you coughed on me, _California, _if you have forgotten already."

He spread his hands in a peaceful gesture. "You let Maine pummel me," he countered.

"You jumped in without me."

Cal, for once, didn't have a cheeky comeback. He shifted his weight for a moment. "We going to do this, or what?"

Mich winced. "Okay, there! You made it weird again!"

He punched the _on_ switch of the shower in reply. A cold spray hissed out, catching Mich full in the face. She protested loudly.

"You moron! Not on me," she yelped, shielding her face with a hand.

He adjusted the shower head to angle at the bloody visor rather than her face. "So sorry, didn't mean to."

Mich didn't think he sounded sorry at all. She scrubbed the mess off her faceplate quickly, formulating a plan. As soon as it was clean, she lunged for the head, dropping her helmet. She pointed it straight into the shocked features of Cal.

He sputtered with indignation for a second before grabbing Mich's hand wrapped around the shower head. He pushed to reorient it once again, full on at her. They struggled for a while against one another, trying to soak the other agent. Mich gave up, allowing Cal to thoroughly douse her. She cut off the water before FILSS could chirp online and do it for them.

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" he asked with a grin.

Blonde hair hung in dripping strands around Mich's face, twisting free of her low ponytail. She swept them away and did her best to look angry. It was hard, Cal arranged his face into a wicked smirk.

"You don't want me to answer that," she growled. "I'm _definitely_ blaming you for any rust, though."

"Make all the threats you like, Michigan," he laughed. "You had fun."

"I had a shower," she corrected haughtily. "There is a difference."

Cal rolled his eyes. "Showers are normally taken wearing substantially less than you have on."

Mich opened her mouth to deliver a harsh reply. And then closed it again, face turning hot. She felt her brain freeze up, refusing to offer her a remark.

"_What_ on god's green Earth are you two _doing_ in the shower?"

Mich and Cal whirled at once, taken by surprise by Sota. "_Nothing_," they barked in unison.

Sota raised a disbelieving eyebrow at that. "Really...?"

Mich pushed past the two of them to get ready for supper. Now her face really _was_ burning.


	66. Chapter 65: Analyse That

**(A/N) Hey everyone, sorry that this is going up late, had some problems with FFN not letting me upload documents, but thankfully that little conflict has been resolved. This chapter is another one of mine, so I hope that you'll all enjoy it, and kind of reveals a little more about some of the freelancers. I had a lot of fun writing it, so I hope you'll all have just as much fun reading it! This is the last chapter of our fifth batch of chapters, so, all things going well, we should begin our sixth round on Saturday, starting with Carolina.**

**Later today we'll have an update for our X-Ray and Vav chapter, which will be updated every Thursday from here on out. Also, as I'm sure many of you know, RWBY debuts later on today, and I assume you're all as excited for that as I am! Can't wait!**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter Sixty-Five – Analyse That**

**Agent Wyoming**

**Written by NicKenny**

* * *

"_You have nice manners for a thief and a liar," said the dragon." _― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Hobbit

* * *

Wyoming groaned, pausing the video and turned away from his old British period drama to glare at York. "I swear to God, if you don't stop whistling that infernal tune, I will not be held responsible for my actions!"

York stared at him in surprise from where he was, lying down on top of his bunk, and held up his hands in mock-surrender. "I'm sorry man, didn't even realise I was doing it."

Wyoming sighed and turned back to the display, his finger halting just before he pressed play. "It's no good," he groaned, "You've gotten it stuck into my bloody head now! I need some fresh air." He picked up his helmet off his desk, cradling it under his arm, and turned to the door, pausing just before he left to say: "Al Jolson, eh? Subtle, old chap. I wouldn't let _her _hear, all the same, if I were you."

Before York even had time to feign innocence and offer an attempt at confusion, Wyoming ducked through the doorway, into one of the _Mother of Invention_'s many corridors. He passed by the other rooms without incident, pausing to exchange a few short words with Massachusetts, who was on her way to the nearest lounge room, a book in her hand. As he passed one of the recently filled rooms, he heard what could only be some sort of drill, accompanied by the occasional dull thumping of a hammer.

'_Don't ask, old chap,' _he advised himself, _'As long as it doesn't affect you, they could have a damn chainsaw in there.' _Of course, he had barely thought this to himself when an even louder noise started emanating out of the walls, following by a short chain of small explosions. The door to the next room opened suddenly, and Cal staggered out, his hand pressed against his temple, obviously having been woken up from a nap.

"Wh…what's happening?" he stuttered, his mouth struggling to form the words.

"We're under attack," Wyoming promptly responded. "The Director wants you to head to the cafeteria immediately, no time to change, there's a good fellow. Chop chop!"

He couldn't help but smile as Cal staggered off in the direction of the cafeteria, in somewhat of a daze, where no doubt half of the ship's crew where currently eating, just in time to see Cal stagger in in his underwear.

Kid's got to learn sometime. Don't trust anyone. Ever.

Especially not on this ship.

He continued walking, eager to put as much distance between himself and the soon to be irate California as possible, navigating the ship's maze of corridors with ease as he made his way towards his favourite spot on the whole of the _Mother of Invention,_ the one place he could relax and get a few minutes of peace in.

The room in question was a small, essentially unused mess hall on the highest level of the MOI, and, as far as he knew, no one else had discovered it up to this point. That was why he was surprised, and more than a bit devastated, to hear several voices echoing down the corridors as he reached his destination.

He burst into the room, a frown on his face as he nodded to Massa and Maine, seating himself as far away from the two as possible, and staring out the nearest window, clearly sending out the message that their presence here was not welcome and that they should leave as soon as possible. The pair didn't seem to get the idea, with Massa offering a cheery "Hi!" and Maine giving a brief grunt that could have been an acknowledgement or just…well, a grunt.

Wyoming's attempts to tune out their conversation quickly failed, and he sighed quietly to himself as he realised that the peace and quiet that he so craved was likely to elude him today, so, grudgingly, he turned back to Maine and Massa, trying to look less inhospitable to his two teammates. If they were here, he may as well try to make the best of it. After all, they couldn't be more annoying than York and his continuous obsession over their team leader.

Sometimes Wyoming thought he'd have to kill that man, someday, just to retain peace of mind.

He tuned back into his two teammates' conversation, and realised, without a great deal of surprise, but with a certain amount of admiration, that Massa was reprimanding the giant agent, in true big sister style.

"Just because you can't feel pain, doesn't mean you'll be able to function at maximum capacity if you don't rest and allow your injuries to heal, you idiot! Broken bones are broken bones, and even if you want to ignore them, you're compromising your abilities!

"I'm fine," Maine grumbled, looking away from Massa's stern features, and Wyoming couldn't help but chuckle a little to himself. The big guy might be terrifying and intimidating in a fight, when his adrenaline was pumping, but confronted by Massa in a rage he was like a deer caught in headlights. A little part of him clearly didn't believe that someone as small as Massa could be talking to him like this.

"Oh, you're fine, are you? So I didn't catch you bleeding all over the place a few minutes ago, because you had torn your stiches and not noticed?! For crying out loud, mate, surely you can come up with something a little better than that?"

Sensing that this argument was only going to escalate, Wyoming cautiously interrupted the two, knowing full well that he'd probably regret it later. "Something I've always wanted to ask you, Maine: What does that goldfish bowl you wear actually do that my helmet doesn't? Other than make you look all cool and intimidating, old chap, but that was inevitable anyway."

Maine glanced over at him, surprised. "Better visibility," he grunted, waving at his helmet that was lying on an armchair a few feet away from him. "Let's me see more."

Wyoming nodded, guessing that it made sense for a brute combatant like Maine to need a larger field of vision in the field, given his penchant for getting close and personal in the field, just like Penn. Wyoming however, preferred his own helmet, which, while it may restrict his vision slightly, wouldn't crack open from a punch like Maine's would. Well…unless it was a really strong punch.

Maine took this opportunity to leave, nodding to Wyoming on his way out, and pointedly ignoring Massa's glare. However, when he had made his exit, her glare was swiftly switched onto Wyoming, and now he was the one to feel the brunt of her anger.

"I'm sorry, what gives you the right to interrupt a conversation that concerns the health and safety of one of our teammates," she snarled, and Wyoming was yet again surprised that she could actually be quite intimidating, up close.

"Massa, my dear, it was pretty clear that if I didn't intervene you would have beaten him senseless for his stupidity, and I really don't think that would have been good for morale," he replied smoothly, looking away and fumbling in one of the pockets of his armour. Drawing out a battered packet of cigarettes, he avoided Massa's accusatory glare, took out a lighter from another pocket, and, igniting it, cupped a hand around the flame as he lit his cigarette, as was his custom after years of lying in wait in some rough terrain for his target to make an appearance.

"Those things can kill you, you know," Massa remarked disapprovingly, looking away.

Wyoming let out a brief laugh. "Really, my dear, with our line of work I really think that's the least I have to worry about. If I even make it to fifty I'll be surprised."

Massa just sighed, and walked over to the window. "Not everything's a joke, Wyoming. We're a team, and we have to look out for each other, even if _some _of us are too stubborn or pig-headed to admit it."

He breathed in deeply, inhaling the cigarette fumes and smiling as the nicotine did its work. "Are you talking about Maine or me?" he asked, looking up at her.

She snorted and walked away, pausing at the doorway to say: "Him. I'm almost about to put you down under the "lost cause" column. Least he doesn't always have a witty retort."

And with that she turned and left, leaving Wyoming to wonder whether Maine had even grasped the concept of wit. He wasn't exactly a big talker. From what Wyoming had gathered, he preferred punching things. Strangely, he felt a note of sadness at Massa;s words, even through he could tell from her tone that what she had said about giving up on him had only been in jest. However, such sentiments were alien to him, and he quickly dismissed them.

At last, he finally had the room to himself, and he leant back in his armchair, at peace. Sadly, this brief moment of happiness was swiftly interrupted as he heard footsteps echoing down the corridor leading up to the room, and he swiftly began praying that it was just an engineer or something making the rounds, who'd pass by without coming in. He cursed under his breath as the familiar coral and sage form of Arkansas strode into the room, nodded at Wyoming, then sat himself down in the far corner of the room.

Irritated at the new agent's presence, Wyoming sighed heavily, wondering when his secret room had quickly become not so secret after all. He tried to ignore Ark, but as with Massa and Maine beforehand, he simply couldn't tune out the mere _existence _of his teammate, and, reluctantly, he looked over to Ark.

"What're you doing up here? I was under the impression that you and Georgia were working on something, judging by the noise coming from your room."

Ark let out a short laugh, shaking his head emphatically. "Georgia's been working on this new idea of his for the past three days straight. I've been coming up here to sleep, because I just can't do it when he's using a high-powered laser cutter mere inches from my bed. Was over in one of the other mess halls, but York was holding an arm-wrestling contest, having already beaten North and Cal, and I was looking for some peace and quiet, you know?"

Wyoming nodded, understanding what it was to have a roommate consumed by an obsession. "Ah, I see, well at least that means my room is free, at last. What's our resident nutty professor working on, anyway? Some sort of half woman, half shark robot, and the woman half is part jaguar?"

Ark shook his head again, chuckling. "No, nothing like that, although I wouldn't put it past him. He's got this idea for a drill that can cut a man-sized hole into the hull of ships. His schematics look sound, but I'm just worried about what he's planning on testing it out on. Pretty sure that the Director won't appreciate a hole in the side of the MOI, and Georgia's already been in his bad books after your misadventures with vandalising all of our armour."

Wyoming held up his hands, protesting his innocence. "Who, me? Tremendously sorry, old chap, but York is the only graffitist on this ship. Just check his table in any of the classrooms!"

Ark raised an eyebrow, put let Wyoming's protestations pass, and looked away. "Well, Maine was heading in that direction when I passed him in the corridor, so I have a feeling that York's current happiness won't last too long."

He paused for another moment, and when he spoke up again the tone of his voice changed, becoming a lot terser. "Guess it won't be too long before we're all back in the field again," he murmured, standing up and moving over to the window, looking out upon Eris' surrounding landscape.

"Indeed," Wyoming replied, not quite certain where Ark was going with this.

"Have you ever noticed that everyone, _everyone,_ here sees themselves as some sort of amateur psychologist, believing that their past experiences allows them to see into the depth of the human psyche."

"I guess I have," Wyoming responded cautiously, alarmed at the sudden change in the conversation.

"I overheard Mich and Cal discussing how surprised they were at how poorly Massa reacted to her drop in the leaderboard, and it was all I could do to stop myself from facepalming. People _always _confuse worry with hurt, and it's so _frustrating, _because they're two completely separate emotions! It was clear as day that she wasn't worried about her own ranking, but at Maine's blatant anger at remaining in the same spot, and at Cal's reaction to dropping to bottom. After all, it's not like any of us want to see either of them blow up, again!"

Wyoming sat back and listened, somewhat surprised at this rant coming from the usually quiet and reserved Arkansas, noticing how Ark clenched his stomach muscles as he mentioned Cal blowing up again, no doubt a reaction to his previous injury.

"We attribute ourselves with all of these skills that we don't, in fact, have, rather than concentrate on the ones we do possess. Everyone thinks that they can read the others, they think that because they're "freelancers" there's nothing they can't do! It's like Cal using that sniper-rifle on our first sim mission! Why didn't he just stick with his actual skill-set?!"

Wyoming took this moment to interrupt, before Ark could wind himself up any further. "Why does that bother you? People are entitled to make their own mistakes."

Ark glanced at him, breathing heavily, then, all of a sudden, he nodded, and all of the tension in his body ceased and he smiled. "Because I don't like mistakes, Wyoming. I'm never going to lecture someone on how to shoot, or how to fight, because there's a lot of people here better at that than I am. The one thing that I can do, however, is read things. People, situations, manuals, they're all the same to me. It's why I'm here. I'm a tactician at heart. Things just come together in my head. Where to place a bomb in order to cause maximum damage, what words would rile a person up the most, what series of algorithms would the guy who set up a security system have been likely to use."

He looked away for a moment, a troubled look on his face, almost as though he was worried that he had said too much. "I'm very good at it, Wyoming, and that's why it annoys me to see people doing it wrong. Even people like Alaska and Penn, who are forever watching and calculating, they only ever look for their opponent's weaknesses, and that, in turn, tells me something about them. They're not trustworthy, but I can trust them to be untrustworthy. The only people here that I've seen truly judge an opponent has been yourself, and Carolina. And Carolina, of course, is too emotionally driven to remain a mystery."

"And what about me?" Wyoming asked curiously, a sharp gleam in his eye. "What deductions have you come to?"

Ark smiled again, and shook his head. "Funnily enough, I can't read you at all, Wyoming, and I find that…_interesting._ All I wonder is, can you read me?"

After a beat, Wyoming let out a noise that could be taken as a negative reply, as much as he was loathe to admit it. "The only thing that I've decided about you, Ark, is that you're a liar, and a bloody good one at that."

Ark laughed at that and looked away, out of the window in front of him. "I'll take that as a compliment," he replied, before nodding to the window. "Looks like we've got a new delivery. Wonder what the Director has in store for us?"

Wyoming glanced out the window and noticed that, indeed, a supply pelican was landing in one of the docking bays of the Project Freelancer Headquarters, the UNSC logo proudly displayed on its side for the universe to see, and he reflected for a moment on what it could contain before turning his matter back to the teammate standing nearby.

'_Indeed,' _he thought, _'A liar, and not one I would trust. He's too much like me for that.'_


	67. Chapter 66: Battle Royale

**(A/N) Hey guys, sorry about the late update, was working late last night and just went to bed the second I got home. Here is the latest update for Phase One: Genesis, sparking off our sixth arc, and bringing us ever closer to the end. This chapter was written by the incredible ParabolaOfMystery, as promised, and, of course, features our Number One, Agent Carolina.**

**Just a quick little breakdown for everyone concerning our current updates. Phase One: Genesis updates every Monday, Wednesday and Saturday (ish), Grifball: Running Rampant every Friday, and X-Ray and Vav every Thursday. There may be some change on that front coming up soon, but I'll let you know.**

**This goes without saying, but, enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter Sixty-Six – Battle Royale**

**Agent Carolina**

**Written by ParabolaOfMystery**

* * *

_"What does it mean to be the best? It means you have to be better than the number two guy. But what gratification is there in that? He's a loser—that's why he's number two." _― Jarod Kintz, This Book is Not for Sale

* * *

"All agents report immediately to the training room floor. Thank you."

Carolina glared up at the ceiling as if she was glaring at the Director straight in the face. A training session _now_? It seemed unusual after two successful (although admittedly, close to disastrous) missions. Usually the agents were permitted time to rest and nurse whatever wounds they acquired, mental or physical.

She groaned. Whatever this was, it was not going to be fun.

"What, not in the mood to be the best today?" York joked from beside her. They were sitting on one of the lounge's sofas together. Carolina had her back against an armrest, her legs reclined in front of her, her feet almost resting on York's lap. "I know about fifteen people that would love to take your place."

Carolina pushed herself up. "I'm just tired."

"What? Carolina, the one woman army, is _tired?_Let me write this down for the scientific journals."

She kicked him in the arm. "Shut up, York, or I'll beat you up."

York chuckled, but was quiet. After all, he knew that she could beat the shit out of him if she wanted to.

They left to go put on their armour. In the locker room, the others looked confused about the training session. Carolina noted that some of them still looked exhausted from their recent missions, and understood the feeling. Sometimes it took a while to recover from a particularly hard mission, and that was even without injury. South, however, looked ready to fight. Carolina didn't particularly like her. She was overly aggressive, overconfident, and didn't work well and teams. All in all, she was a bitch. Carolina caught South sneaking glares at her from across the room as she put on the many plates of her armour.

"What do you think we'll be doing?" Virginia asked as they walked down to the training room.

Massa, who was walking next to her, shrugged. "Maybe something in teams, since there's so many of us."

_I wouldn't be so sure,_Carolina thought. If there was one thing the Director liked, it was pitting his agents against each other.

In the end, she was right. As the Director stared down the line of agents, she saw a smirk in his eye as he announced that they would be facing off in a battle royale.

"A what?" Ark asked. "Like that one old Japanese movie where they all fight to the death?"

The Director fixed his gaze on him. "I don't understand that reference, but the idea is similar. You will all be fighting in a free-for-all combat exercise. The winner is the last man standing. Once you are down for five seconds, or receive a blow powerful enough to result in the incapacitation of a foe without access to your armour, you are out. Your armour will go into lock mode, and you will remain there for the rest of the exercise. Any questions?"

"What about weapons?" Minnesota asked.

"You will be tested in hand-to-hand combat, so no weapons are permitted." At this, Penn chuckled. _I'm going to have to watch out for him_, Carolina thought. Penn would probably be one of the last ones standing. If he didn't go for her straight off the bat, she would undoubtedly have to fight him at some point during the battle. She snuck a glance down the line of agents. She would have to look out for Maine as well, and probably twins. South had been glaring at her the moment the Director announced the battle royale, and if South had it out for her, she would probably bring North along with her.

Once they were all spaced evenly around the outside edge of the room, the countdown timer began from twenty. Carolina took a moment to scan who was around her. To her left was Georgia, who was tapping his fingers on his knee. He was nervous, and had reason to be- hand-to-hand wasn't exactly his specialty. To her right was Michigan, who didn't seem to be eying her as a target- she seemed to be having a nonverbal conversation with California. Carolina guessed that the two were going to team up. Even though they'd brought down Maine between the two of them, they were still low-ranked, and probably nothing to worry about.

As soon as F.I.L.S.S. announced the start, Carolina dove at Georgia. He seemed to be expecting it, and ducked as her kick swung over his head. He swept his own leg across the floor, taking Carolina's planted foot with it- he was quicker than she'd expected- but she'd grabbed his helmet as she crashed to the floor and slammed it against the cement as hard as she could. Maybe a little harder than she'd intended. Georgia tried to push himself up, but Carolina slammed him down again, and his armour flickered as it went into armour lock. _Sorry about that._Maybe she would apologize once the battle was over. Maybe not.

As Carolina stood up, she heard someone yell, "_Behind you!_" and she sidestepped just in time for a fist to just catch the edge of her helmet. She spun and kicked, her heel catching the centre of her opponents back, and finished the turn to see South fly forward. Another almost identical body flew forward to join her- North- and Carolina heard someone approach her from behind. She spun, fists ready, but saw it was York. _Dammit._She swung, but didn't correct herself when he didn't move. She wanted to see what he would do, and true to form, he dodged her attack and then held his hands up reassuringly.

"You need my help to take out those two," he said hurriedly, motioning to the twins, who were getting back on their feet.

_Dammit, York,_ she thought. "I don't need anyone's help," she managed, just as North and South charged. She deflected a swing with her forearm and forced her aside. South aimed a kick, but it was too high and Carolina caught it and twisted, knocking the other freelancer off balance. Before she could do anything else, an arm was wrapped around her neck. She hit at it, but when it wouldn't move, she kicked off the floor as hard as she could. Her attacker landed hard on his back with Carolina on top, and she rolled off North as he tried to catch his breath. Meanwhile, York was aiming punches at South.

"I thought you had my back!" She yelled at him.

"I thought you didn't need my help!" he yelled back. Carolina ran to join his fight with South, but was intercepted by North, who had gotten up quickly. She and North circled each other, anticipating the first move, until South yelled, "Leave her to me!" Unfortunately for the female twin, the moment she stepped between North and Carolina, Carolina delivered that first move- a wicked right hook that caught South directly in the side of the head, and her armour was shifting to lock mode even before she hit the floor. At the same moment, York tackled North around the waist. York seemed like he could handle the purple freelancer, so Carolina took a moment to scan her surroundings.

Of the sixteen Freelancers, only six of them were down so far, including, surprisingly, Maine. Mich and Cal were surprisingly still fighting against Massa, who seemed to be getting overwhelmed. Their teamwork was more effective than Carolina thought it would be, and sure enough, they took her down, and high fived as she went into armour lock. Virginia and Wyoming were in a calculated battle, and Pennsylvania, Alaska, and Arkansas seemed to be in a three way fistfight. Carolina looked their way just in time to see Alaska and Penn hit Ark and the exact same time- had they teamed up?- sending him flying and into armour lock. A moment later, Mich and Cal jumped into the fight. It seemed to be a stupid move, since they were way out of their league against Alaska and Penn, but that wasn't her problem. What was her problem was Virginia, who had won her fight with Wyoming and was charging her and York.

Carolina charged at her, feeling York right behind her, and dove to the ground at the last second in a slide to take out her legs. Virginia almost managed to evade it, but tripped on Carolina's shoulder and met York's fist at her stomach. She doubled over, and Carolina shot to her feet to kick her in the back, forcing her again into York's fist. Another spinning kick from Carolina was all it took to finish her off.

"Tell me next time you do that slidey move thing," York grunted, shaking out his fist. "Almost missed it."

"Fine," Carolina said, scanning the room. Now all that was left was her and York and Penn. Mich and Cal were crumpled on opposite sides of the room- Carolina was slightly curious as to how that happened- and Alaska was only just flickering into armour lock. If Penn and Alaska had teamed up for the fight, it seemed like Penn wasn't hesitant to end their alliance. Penn faced them, cracking his knuckles. The giant seemed ready for another fight, and Carolina could tell that it was going to be a rough one. While she was an expert on hand-to-hand combat, Penn still had his brute force and size on his side, whereas she was significantly smaller. She would have to be quick about it.

"You ready for this?" She asked York.

"Not really," he answered.

The two of them spread out so that there was one on either side of the huge freelancer. Penn glanced from side to side, anxious to see which side would strike first.

She lunged, making herself the target. As she ducked Penn's fist, York assaulted Penn's other side, while he hardly seemed to notice. She blocked punch after punch, but wasn't prepared for a kick to the chest that sent her sprawling.

She pushed herself to her elbows, trying to remember how to breathe. _Five seconds. I need to get up._Her knees shook as she got to her feet, and looked up just in time to see Penn pull his fist back. Her arms flew up just in time to protect her head, and he sent her backward again. She landed flat on her back, losing her breath for the second time in a row.

_What am I doing? I'm laying here like a freaking turtle._She was half-aware of Penn walking toward her to finish her off. _Why aren't I getting up?_

Penn grabbed her by the front of her armour and lifted her. She squirmed, but her head was still muddled from the last hit. _Holy shit._She hit feebly at the hand on her armour. _If I lose right here…_The arm swung back… and something slammed into her side and knocked her onto the ground.

She glanced up to see York take the hit. Right at the side of the head, and Carolina knew it was just her and Penn. Her body ached from Penn's hits, but she pushed herself to her feet. Penn cracked his neck, ready for a second round. _Maybe if I tire him out…_

She let Penn make every move, dodging most, while some managed to just catch her. The only thing she concentrated on was not letting him land anything. If she took any real hit, she was going to go down, and knowing Penn, it wouldn't be pretty.

It seemed to take forever until Penn's punches started to slow. She felt sweat sting her eyes from inside her helmet. Penn seemed to actually be getting tired, and Carolina saw her chance when a punch went clumsily wide. Time slowed down, and she was aware of every muscle in her body, every vulnerable point of Penn's. Her mind was clear.

She grabbed Penn's right forearm, twisting at the elbow until she heard it pop. Penn roared and swung with his other arm, which Carolina grabbed again. She jumped, twisting her body so she flipped up and over him, twisting his shoulder backward. There was another pop, and now both arms hung at terrible awkward angles.

Penn roared and tried a kick at her, but with his arms hardly being any use, had skewed balance and the kick missed by a lot. Carolina took the opportunity to make a jumping kick at his head, knocking him to the ground.

She took a step back, panting, and waited to see if Penn would get up. For three and a half seconds, he stayed down on the ground. At the fourth, he pushed himself up with his right shoulder into a kneeling position.

"What are you waiting for?" he growled.

What _was_she waiting for? Him to get up? Or to stay down?

"Good point," she mumbled, and kicked him in the helmet.

"Match over. Winner: Agent Carolina."

She glanced up to see the Director in the observation deck, expressionless.

* * *

There were a lot of people in the med bay that night. Just about everyone was treated with significant bruises and breaks, especially Penn. He was avoiding Carolina as the medics worked on him, while Carolina didn't mind. South was avoiding her as well, only sneaking death glares as her brother tried to comfort her.

The medic Killian Jay was scanning her with an x-ray pad, looking for breaks or fractures. "You've got two broken ribs," he said, "but otherwise it's just some major bruises. We can take care of those right away, but you might want to take tomorrow off."

"Fine," she muttered. As soon as the battle was over, everyone's armor lock had shut down, allowing people to get to their feet. Some were still knocked out- York, for example- but the rest limped off to the med bay by themselves or supporting others. Carolina had found it difficult to keep standing; the adrenaline that got her back on her feet to face Penn had worn off, leaving her sharp pains in her chest and to her surprise, Georgia had come to her aid, supporting her on her trip to the med bay.

"Why are you helping me?" She had asked him, gritting her teeth.

"Don't really know," he replied cheerily. "I just assumed it was nothing personal when you took me down. I was the one closest to you, after all."

Now Georgia was holding an ice pack to his head, chatting away with some of the medics about their equipment. On the bed next to her, York groaned and sat up, holding his head, which was wrapped with bandages and stuck with ice.

"Dear god," he groaned. "This is like the worst hangover _ever_." "Remind me never to help you, ever again."

Carolina chuckled. She had to admire his ability to still crack jokes at a time like this. "What if I forget to remind you?"

"Then I'll probably die trying," York mumbled.

It was hard to find something to say to that.

York pushed himself up on his elbows, not noticing her silence. "Can I get a medic over here? I need drugs. Lots and lots of drugs."


	68. Chapter 67: Truce

**(A/N) Hey guys, time for our latest update, and this one is a Minnesota chapter! I assume you're all watching the new RvB episode at the moment, and, if not, then what are you doing?! Get your asses over to the RT website and watch that thing! Of course, then come back and read this chapter. Maybe reread the whole fic if you have the time. Just a suggestion. ;)**

**As always, enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter Sixty-Seven – Truce**

**Agent Minnesota**

**Written by XxXshadowkitsuXxX**

* * *

"_If one's friends do not openly laugh at him, they are not in fact his friends. "_― Dean Koontz, _Forever Odd_

* * *

My body begged for rest. I refused to let it. That fight had been stupid and pointless. The Director should have known that either Penn or Carolina would have won so why make the rest of us fight? The whole thing was ridiculous like that leaderboard. I gave it a quick glance as I lashed out at the hand-to-hand simulation. Nothing in this place makes any sense.

"You show a six-"

"Run it again F.I.L.S.S." I called out to the A.I.

"Agent Minnesota, it has been a while since you have taken a break. Are you sure-"

"I said run it again," I said, irritation slowly creeping into my voice.

The simulation started up again and I forced my body back to work. I knew that the all-out fighting exercise was a suicide mission, but like any other suicide mission I put every ounce of determination into it. There was no real point to it. Why make all the rookies and 'firsts' fight each other? Maybe if they had been on teams it would have made sense, but they were told to pretty much beat each other senseless.

The lights all turned red and I waited a moment to catch my breath. My gaze drifted back up to the leaderboard. It looked down on me like it knew something I didn't. The bottom of the board, that's where I was. It was ridiculous. I can take on all these other rookies easily. The 'firsts' would be a challenge though, at least some of them. I just learned that first hand. I turned away from its hypnotic glow before I filled it full of bullets. I shouldn't feel this way towards a stupid list, but I do. It's the curse of the board as Cal likes to call it. It's not the board that's driving me like this. It's someone else, someone more important to me than the Director. I will keep going until I prove him wrong.

"Start it again F.I.L.S.S.," I said.

"Agent Minnesota, you have shown a three per cent decrease in efficiency. Maybe you should take a break before starting again," the A.I. responded.

"I'm fine just start it up again," I growled.

"Hey don't take it out on the lady, she's just trying to help."

"Thank you, Agent California," the A.I. chimed.

The simulation came on and I ignored him. As I danced in my circle of spinning targets, I noticed he had brought Michigan with him.

"Aren't you going to stop my training like you usually do?" I questioned.

"No, just watching."

I continued for a few more rounds until my legs nearly gave out on me. Refusing to give in, I attacked the few remaining targets. My body finally refused to listen and I collapsed to my knees in exhaustion.

"That's enough, F.I.L.S.S.," Cal said as he and Mich stood over me.

They sat down next to me while I caught my breath.

"What are guys doing here, anyway? Don't you have better things to do than watch me workout?" I asked.

"I saw some crates being hauled off a pelican that looked a little suspicious. When I asked about them, no one would tell me anything. Then I ran into Cal on his way here and thought you two might know something," Mich explained.

"Sorry, not a clue," I said as I forced myself to my feet.

Cal immediately stood up. "You better not be getting ready for another round. You'll hurt yourself."

I ignored him. "Why do you care? It's my training."

"Because you my friend. I just don't see why you're pushing yourself like this. I told you the leaderboard isn't worth it," he reasoned.

"I'm not doing this because of the leaderboard. It's more of a personal reason." I tried to get him to leave it alone.

"Like what, losing a few pounds? I can totally see that then." He joked while Mich laughed next to him.

"No," I growled. "Just leave it alone. I don't want to talk about."

"You don't ever want to talk about anything. Come on, I promise we won't tell anyone," he pleaded.

I thought for a moment. No, he should just mind his own business. But still, maybe it might help to talk it out to them. I know Cal wouldn't say anything, but what about Mich. I still didn't trust her very much. She has trusted me on every mission we've been on so far, so maybe I could trust her with this. I took off my helmet and sighed.

"It because of my family."

They both seemed genuinely surprised about what I said. I knew they would be. Their attention was focused solely on me so I continued to explain.

"Mainly my dad and sister, mom left us when we were little. He thinks dirt has more uses than I do while she thinks I'm the greatest person ever. I push myself to make sure he's wrong. That's why I hate losing. I refuse to let that go."

Cal stood there for a moment stunned before speaking. "Your old man sounds like a dick."

"He refused to see me off when I joined the UNSC, said it was a waste of his time."

"You shouldn't let him get under skin like this. Who cares what he thinks?" Mich said.

"You two wouldn't understand. Growing up, nothing was good enough for him. He constantly yelled at us and I took most of the damage to protect me sister. No matter how well we did, that ass would find something to yell at us for," I ranted. "I want to prove him wrong, but I can't seem to do anything here."

Cal put his hand on my shoulder, I could feel another pep talk coming.

"Look Sota, this isn't going to prove anything. From what it sounds like, nothing will change his mind."

"Are you telling me to give up?" I shoved his hand off of me and faced him.

"No, that's not what I meant. He's the problem, not you. He should be the one trying to get better at things." He looked pissed for some reason.

I got in his face. "You wouldn't understand. You don't know what it's like to push yourself everyday just to get thrown down after all your hard work. That everything you do means nothing no matter how good you are at it, but you keep going hoping that maybe someone will recognize your talents. I thought the Director saw that in me, but I guess I was wrong."

"Well okay then, if one guy doesn't think you're God's gift to humanity, then maybe the apocalypse is on us now! One guy doesn't approve of you, so what? You're still here and where is he! You think you know real suffering? Mate, what I've been through makes your father look like parent of the fucking year! Where were you before you joined up? Successful? Doing well? Well guess where I was, go on! Oh yeah, I was discharged from the military, preparing to kill myself! So don't you talk to me about suffering ever so much!" He yelled.

This reaction surprised both me and Mich. My anger faltered for a moment before coming back full force.

"Successful?! You call having every squad member abandoning me during a mission successful? You think I got through being hunted down by enemies without a scratch? I push myself because if I don't, when shit hits the fan I won't be ready. I've have to do almost everything by myself since no one has ever had my back! I train so I don't fall behind!"

"And yet, you're still at the bottom of the leaderboard," The second he finished that last word I punched him.

"I'm stronger than you and don't tell me otherwise. The only reason I'm not higher up is because the Director won't send me on a real mission," I retorted.

"You keep telling yourself that," Cal said as I started to walk away.

I left before I did something stupid. Every instinct in me said to pummel him into the training floor. My head began to hurt as more thoughts wormed their way into my mind. I tried to think of something else before I decided to act on them. Those crates Mich talked about sounded interesting. Making my way to the hanger, I found 343-R checking in several large crates.

Time to try the oldest trick in the book. "So what's in the crates?"

"Sorry, classified. Probably super cool spy stuff. Maybe it's those custom parts I ordered for my ship. Georgia's not gonna touch those babies," he answered.

"So you don't know what's in them?"

"Probably something special the Director wanted. I still hope it's those parts," the pilot continued.

"Why's that?"

"Well," he leaned a little closer and whispered. "when I say 'custom' it's really more of 'not Director approved' parts if you know what I mean."

"I hope they get here soon then."

"Yeah, once they do this baby will be able to do all kinds of new stuff." He started going on about different parts and what they would do.

Slowly losing interested, I left the chattering pilot to himself. There's only so much rambling I can take in at one time. Passing through a hall, I spotted Alaska having another conversation with the wall. How do he and Penn work so well when they're on missions? The two are almost always at each other's throats. Then there was York and North, who were the exact opposite. Neither would hurt a fly unless it was part of the mission. Not to mention Wyoming and Florida, if I hadn't seen it myself I'd never have believed it.

It made me think of my own little group. I pushed aside the dwindling anger before it got the best of me. Cal and Mich are just trying to look out for me, and they're the only ones to even try and be friends with me. It's nice to have people to count on during a mission. We hadn't been on many missions together, but we'd come to trust one another with our lives on the field. Trust, there it was again. I know what they were trying to tell me, but it's not that simple. It's something I've always done, I'd give up my sniper rifle before that would change.

I somehow managed to find the cafeteria. Grabbing some bottled water, I found an isolated table and continued my mental wanderings. Before I could even start, Cal showed up and sat across from me, Mich watching from a corner. She probably thought we'd start something again. We sat uncomfortably in silence for a minute before he spoke up.

"Sorry about earlier. I kinda lost my cool."

I refused to respond to him, instead my attention focused onto the water in my hands.

He rubbed the back of his head and sighed. "I said some things that I shouldn't have. I'm sorry."

I glanced up at him. He looked uncomfortable and miserable. Spite kept me from answering.

"Say something, man. I feel bad about what happened and I don't want to lose our friendship because of something this stupid." He pleaded almost.

Almost every part of me wanted him to feel like this, for him to suffer for making fun of me, for saying he was better. Instead, I listened to the part that didn't speak up much. The part of me that felt the same as him.

"I'm sorry too. It wasn't entirely your fault," I said.

A smile crept onto his face. "Yeah, I guess we both have to work on our tempers a little, or at least save it for someone else."

"I like that second part better," I chuckled.

He held out his hand. "Truce?"

"Truce., I answered as I shook his hand.


	69. Chapter 68: The Covenant

**(A/N) Hey guys, sorry that this is coming out late, finding it very difficult to keep juggling work, a social life and the collab, but I think I'm on top of things once again. Hopefully there won't be any other late updates for a good while, and the new X-Ray and Vav chapter will, of course, be going up tonight. Thanks to everyone for bearing with me.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter Sixty-Eight – The Covenant**

**The Director**

**Written by NicKenny**

* * *

"_Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong." _– Murphy's Law

* * *

I reviewed the video yet again, replaying the battle royale that the freelancers had just partaken in over and over again. Carolina had emerged victorious, but that was no surprise to me. Indeed, the only surprise would be if she had failed.

I watched the footage again, as Carolina swiftly eliminated Georgia, but, once again, that was of little surprise to me. Georgia wasn't in this project due to his hand-to-hand combat abilities. I was much more interested in his brain that his brawn. Then, seconds later, Minnesota is taken down by Penn, who smashes a fist into his head, knocking him out instantly. Still, Agent Minnesota is a sniper. His skill lies in taking targets out from a distance, and, up close against Penn, he was never going to win. Nonetheless I make a mental note to broach the subject with him at some point in the near future. I cannot allow him to grow complacent, regardless of the skills that he does have. All of us, as individuals, must continue to improve and improve if we are ever to have a chance of winning this war.

Florida is then taking out at the far end a brief moment later as an enraged Agent Maine bats the blue agent away, sending him flying into the wall, ending Florida's brief alliance with Arkansas, who now has to take on Maine alone. Surprisingly, Ark manages to evade the clutches of the larger agent, and capitalises when Maine's attention wavers as Agent Pennsylvania abandons his fight with Wyoming and Virginia, and begins to make his way over. However, before he gets the chance, Arkansas tackles Maine to the ground, pummelling his EVA helmet over and over until Maine's armour lock activates, just after South Dakota is eliminated by Carolina, catching a wicked right hook to the temple.

The rest of the eliminations occur almost as quickly, as our most skilled agents rise to the challenge, and alliances are swiftly formed, and, just as swiftly, broken. Massachusetts is sent into armour lock, giving way before the combined assault of Michigan and California, and North is finished off by York, bringing their struggle to an end.

The training room floor is, by this point, littered with armour-locked bodies, and another is added when Virginia lands a snap-kick into Wyoming's chest, knocking the air out of his lungs and shutting his armour down. At the same time, Ark is confronted by both Alaska and Penn, and, while he manages to stand firm in the face of their combined onslaught for a few seconds, he is soon overcome by the two older agents.

Alaska and Penn's attention then turned to Michigan and California, and soon enough Michigan was down, leaving California to fight the two alone, just as Ark had previously. At the same time, Virginia charged into combat against York and Carolina, and was soon overcome, entering armour lock fractions of a second before California was taken down by Penn.

Another surprise was at hand, as Penn slammed into Alaska before the other agent had time to react, bringing their alliance to an end, and leaving Penn to face off against York and Carolina, alone. Despite the fact that I had already watched this video several times over, and already knew the outcome of this final battle, I couldn't help but lean forward as the three agents threw themselves into the fray.

York was soon out of the picture, foolishly allowing his emotions to cloud his judgement and taking the brunt force of an attack meant for Carolina, leaving it all down to Carolina and Penn. I smiled as I watched the two trade blows, Penn's more powerful but clumsier assault being evaded by Carolina, until he finally makes a mistake which she seizes on, knocking him to the ground, then putting him out of his misery.

I lean back with a smile of satisfaction on my face, pleased with the progress that our agents are showing. Agent Carolina and Pennsylvania, in particular, are exceeding the hopes that I had for them. I barely noticed the sudden cry of shock from the far end of the observation deck, and my attention flickers over to it for a moment, as I turn my head slightly, only to see a technician standing and waving excitedly in my direction.

"Sir!" he exclaimed, yelling across the room. "We've detected the same frequency used by the leader of the Insurrection in his transmission!"

I immediately rose, striding over across the room to where the beaming technician stood, feeling all of the eyes in the room fixating themselves on me. "Are you sure?" I asked slowly, in measured tones, as the technician nods furiously.

"I'm positive, sir. It's a perfect match."

I nod slowly, taking my glasses off and dusting them while my brain works furiously. "What are they transmitting?"

"A distress beacon, sir. Their ship appears to have run into trouble," the technician replied, gesturing to the machine next to him.

"Interesting," I murmured, then I pointed to the headset connected to the machine. "May I?"

He beamed, no doubt expecting a weighty bonus in his next pay check for his work today. "Of course, Director!"

I smiled back, and sat down in his chair, pulling on the headset. Immediately my ears filled with the underlying sounds of a blaring siren, gunfire, and one familiar voice repeating the same words over and over. "This is the URF flagship _Hand of Fortune_. We are under attack, I repeat, we are under attack! Calling on any nearby URF or UNSC vessels to aid us if you can. Please, send help."

The message then replayed over, and I realised where I recognised the voice from. The UNSC had sent us every file that they had on the Unified Revolutionary Front, and, in particular, Lieutenant Ian Harper, including voice recordings.

'_Interesting,' _I thought, _'If one of their highest ranking officials are issuing distress beacons, then exactly what sort of problem did they stumble across.' _

I idly wondered whether or not whatever this mysterious problem that the Insurgents had stumbled across would have been so kind as to have rid us of the good lieutenant, but I had a feeling that fate wouldn't be so kind. A man like Lieutenant Harper had a knack for escaping deadly situations with his life intact, but this beacon finally provided us with our first fresh lead in weeks as to his, or their leader's, whereabouts.

"Have you been able to trace the transmission?" I asked the technician hovering by my shoulder, and he nodded enthusiastically in response.

"It's in a sector not too far from our current position, sir. We could probably make it in under an hour, depending on how accurately our slipspace engine is operating."

I nodded sagely, removing the headphones and returning them to their owner. "Very well then," I replied, making my way back to the top of the observation deck. "F.I.L.S.S., please set a waypoint at these coordinates, and prepare to activate the slipspace engine. Order all soldiers to battle positions, and inform the freelancers that they are required to make their way to the observation deck ASAP."

I sat down at my desk and opened up all of the files we had on the Unified Revolutionary Front, and this ship of theirs, the _Hand of Fortune_, as all around me, the denizens of the _Mother of Invention _heeded the call to arms.

We exited slipspace not too far from the transmission's coordinates, and quickly came across the ship that was issuing the distress beacon, drifting aimlessly just outside of a nearby asteroid field, it's hull scorched and blackened, bearing the traces of a recent, and brutal, attack.

"Agents," I began, turning to the assembled freelancers, who all started at my sudden words, as they had been waiting now for several minutes in complete silence as we neared out target. "We know that the _Hand of Fortune_ was recently attacked, and that a distress beacon was transmitted, and is indeed still transmitting. We must acknowledge the fact that this might well be a trap, or, that the crew onboard the ship all perished during the attack. Regardless, we must investigate."

I gestured to the holographic table next to me, and a display of the _Hand of Fortune _appeared, using the UNSC blueprints of the vessel before it had been captured and claimed for the Insurrectionist cause.

"We believe that both Lieutenant Ian Harper and the Insurrectionist leader may be onboard, or have been onboard at some point during the attack, so the objective here is twofold. Your primary objective is to discover either the bodies or any information on the current whereabouts of Lieutenant Harper or the Insurrectionist leader, with the secondary objective being the discovery of the identity of the vessel's attacker."

Suddenly, several of the technicians at the other side of the observation deck began shouting at once, and, somewhere on the ship, sirens began to wail.

"Director," F.I.L.S.S. suddenly burst, "Our sensors have depicted an unknown vessel exiting slipspace near our current location. How should we respond?"

"It's a trap," I murmur, striding over to the window looking out onto the _Hand of Fortune._ "F.I.L.S.S., patch me through to the commander of the ship when they exit slipspace, if you will. I'd like to know the name of our would-be opponent, before we send him back to the scrap heap where he belongs."

There was a slight pause, and when F.I.L.S.S. finally spoke up once more, a note of confusion had entered the voice of the A.I. "I cannot, sir, I am not familiar with their communications technology. It appears to be…alien."

"Alien," I asked, just as the ship burst out of slipspace in front of us, its cannons already blazing as it fired round after round into our hull. The _Mother of Invention _rocked under this assault, and I almost lost my balance, grabbing hold of the holo-table just in time to prevent myself from falling.

"F.I.L.S.S., sound the alarm," I ordered, trying to keep my voice as even as possible. "We are under attack! Order all personnel into attack positions, and commence fire upon the alien vessel."

"As you command, Director," she replied, and her voice could be heard echoing throughout the corridors of the MoI, until she spoke up again a second later, her voice filling the observation deck.

"Director, I have detected the launch of several of what I can only assume to be boarding craft, and they seem to have pinpointed several locations to begin boarding, including an area near the ship's core, the loading bay, and several other locations."

The holographic table brought up another image, but this time it displayed the MoI itself, highlighting the targeted areas in a bright red.

I blinked, my brain already formulating a plan to combat this assault, but somewhere in the back of my mind I already knew that the odds were not in our favour. Few lone ships survived a Covenant attack, and this one had caught us unawares. However, I was not the sort to go down without a fight, and I turned to my freelancers, a stern but unconcerned expression on my face as I issued their orders in even tones.

"Carolina, I want you to take Pennsylvania, Maine and Alaska, and make way for the loading bay, taking charge of any and all personnel you meet along the way, and coordinate the defence there. It'll take them a while to disable our shields and breach our hull, so you will have a limited amount of time to organise some kind of defensive structure beforehand."

The four freelancers nodded and left, weapons in hand, making their way towards the loading bay with all available haste. I then turned to York, who stared back at me impassively, although I could tell that he wasn't entirely happy about being on a separate team to Carolina. But we did not have the time for such wasted sentiment here.

"York, you are to take agents California, Florida and Massachusetts, and take control of the groups of soldiers already organising the defence of the ship's core. I have no doubt that that is one of the most important, if not the primary, target of the enemy's assault. If they damage the core, we're as good as dead."

Without even waiting for the agents to leave, I then turn to North Dakota. "North, there is a long, straight corridor on the upper levels of the ship, near one of the main Covenant breaching attempts, which we will attempt to funnel the Covenant boarding parties through, by shutting the nearby blast doors. I'm placing you in charge of Wyoming, Virginia and Minnesota in the defence of this area. Unfortunately, it will just be the four of you being utilised in this defence, as we are too heavily pressed in other areas to spare any personnel in the defence of a relatively strategically un-important zone. Indeed, I would leave it to the Covenant, but if they manage to breach that corridor it will put much more pressure on our defences in other areas."

Like York, North also appeared to have some dissatisfaction about his team, clearly not wanting to be too far from his sister, but sometimes small sacrifices must be made for the greater good. The agents left, leaving me with the last four staring at me with mixed levels of apprehension.

I looked at them each in turn: Arkansas, coolly staring back at me, although his clenched fists betrayed his fear. Georgia, not meeting my gaze, evidently ill at ease in the position that he had just found himself. South Dakota, just turning back after watching her brother's retreating form exit the room, evidently displeased. Michigan, fidgeting slightly, betraying a sense of unease and worry that had only begun once Agent California had left the room.

_Interesting._

"Agents, you are to provide support to any groups that request it, and to scout for further, undetected breaches in our defences. Arkansas, I am placing you in charge of the team, do not let me down. Two dozen of the men waiting outside this room will be placed under your command during the course of this defence. So get to it."

I waited for them to leave, but one of the agents didn't appear to be entirely happy with this announcement.

"You're placing _Ark _in charge of the team!" South angrily exclaimed, her disbelief evident in her tone. "I'm at a higher rank than he is! This is _bullshit_!"

"Leave personnel decisions to me, South," I replied, glaring at the protesting agent. "In case you haven't noticed, we have bigger problems to deal with at the moment."

"But sir!"

"This conversation is over, agent," I answered, motioning towards the door. "You have a job to do, now do it."

The four left, and I turned to stare out at the Covenant Destroyer still firing round after round into the MoI, the ship trembling at random intervals beneath the furious assault. I turned to the Counselor, who had been following me quietly ever since the attack had been sprung, and gestured for him to speak.

"Do you think we have a chance, sir?" he eventually offered, trembling slightly.

"I don't know, Counselor," I replied, turning away. "I just don't know."


	70. Chapter 69: Close Encounters

**AN: ****Today we have the ever wonderful BrambleStar14 with chapter 69 (I know, everyone wants to make the joke, so let's get it out of our system). Nick's away this evening, so, for once, you're getting a few hasty words from the lesser known admin. **

**Things are about to get really exciting from here on out, (not that it hasn't been awesome enough already) and I hope you guys enjoy this chapter as much as I did. **

* * *

**Chapter Sixty-Nine – Close Encounters**

**Agent California**

**Written by BrambleStar14**

* * *

"_When you get into a tight place and everything goes against you, till it seems as though you could not hang on a minute longer, never give up then, for that is just the place and time that the tide will turn." - _Harriet Beecher Stowe

* * *

Alarms blared out overhead, filling the large room before California with endless, incessant wailing, rather like one of those old nuclear warning sirens. Cal pondered on these old Earth references for a moment, before shaking himself out of his reverie. He had more important things to be focusing on right now. He slowly looked around at what the group were doing at the present time. It was a flurry of frenzied activity.

Florida was positioning a group of heavy crates at the entrance to the chamber they were currently occupying in an attempt to create a solid barricade. This group of obstacles was blocking the only working door into the room, but it was a rather large door. Massa was hurrying backwards and forwards, setting up a small station against the wall behind the barricade to look after anyone wounded and to ensure that their wounds would be well treated. Cal saw the medic, Killian, helping her out as he ran backwards and forwards, emptying one of the crates, which contained biofoam.

Cal ran over to where York was conferring with a sergeant of the basic Freelancer Marines, dressed in silver which an ODST helmet in place, silver visor gleaming. As Cal arrived, the Marine nodded at one of York's orders, before turning and helping Florida position a machine gun on top of the barricade. York turned as Cal approached.

"So, got a plan, or is it the usual? You know, fight and die?" Cal joked, a grin on his face as York sighed, before smiling slightly.

"We fight. You never know, we might win!" There was York's optimistic side. Then, he was all business, the team leader again. "Cal, Florida needs help with the barricade. I want you to set up traps along the corridor after you're done helping him. We need all the advantages we can get here!"

Cal grinned, before leading York over to a crate that clearly had marks that belonged to Georgia's crowbar. York raised an eyebrow, which vanished immediately as Cal lifted a leg and kicked the crate over, knocking the lid off and spilling what looked like a mixture of explosives and un-deployed Auto-turrets.

"I think I've got advantages handled, what about you?" Cal snarked, before lifting a pair of auto-turrets and climbing over the barricade. Florida gave him a thumbs up as he passed. Trust Florida to be so chirpy in a combat zone. Cal ran up the long corridor and placed the auto-turrets into the alcoves that occasionally sank into the walls of the long corridor leading up to the large entrance doors. As he placed them into the walls, he pressed a small switch on the side. Instantly, the turrets unfolded and deployed, aiming into the corridor. Cal ran back, satisfied.

"It's done," he told York, who looked grimly satisfied.

"We're almost ready," he muttered but before he could expand, he was interrupted. It was small at first, a small tremor that could have been mistaken for a backfiring of the ship's engines. But then, the trembling grew larger and larger, until a screeching sound heralded a large shudder that rolled through the whole frigate. Then, the shuddering stopped.

The lights went out.

Seconds later, the emergency lighting kicked in, bathing the room in blood-like red. The intercom crackled, before the Director's voice echoed around the room, with static interrupting every so often.

**"Attention, the ship has been boarded, prepare for combat. I repeat, prepare for combat. Freelancers, stop these invaders. At all costs."** The intercom crackled sadly once more, before fading.

The room was silent, frozen, almost for a whole second. This second seemed to roll on forever. Cal glanced around the room, almost in slow motion. The Marines were standing, frozen as they stared at the walls, at the roof, at the intercom and at each other, crates still in their hands.

Killian turned to stare at the barricade slowly, gulping as he turned his gaze to stare at the small pistol clutched like a lifeline in his trembling hands.

Massa turned to York, wide-eyed, before turning back to her station with renewed vigour, hands moving determinately, as though every move could decide the battle. Cal supposed that it would, if they became injured.

Florida was standing atop the barricade, staring towards the door, an unnaturally grim look on his face as he grasped his rifle more firmly.

York stared at the intercom, head held high and helmet held loosely by his side. He seemed frozen, before he looked away and moved towards the barricade.

The second was broken and activity continued. The Marines ran backwards and forwards, placing the crates in their various positions even faster than before. Cal observed the end result of the hastily constructed barricade.

They were defending the ship's core. Now normally, the large circular room they were standing in was accessed by three separate doors placed at one third exactly around the room. However, thanks to York's ingenuity and F.I.L.S.S.'s abilities, two of those doors were locked down, meaning that the group could focus on the one remaining entrance. Behind Cal, opposite the doors, was a large window that spanned the back curved wall of the room. This was the observation window, for non-restricted personnel to observe the core. Except that the core wasn't visible. Instead, a massive circular chamber was visible. The three doors that led into the room entered onto catwalks that ended up outside of a thick, metal dome that encompassed that core chamber. These catwalks allowed access through thick, glass doors that would seal automatically in case of a radiation leak. Cal would hate to be in there when lockdown occurred. The interior was basically a secondary control room, with the core and the array of control panels.

It was this core that the group was defending. The catwalks were sealed off, meaning that the aliens flooding the ship would have a hard time accessing it. The barricade blocking the long corridor leading to the door was comprised of crates and metallic grates standing up, through which weapons could be aimed and fired. On top of the barricade was where the Freelancers would stand, a machine gun turret in place, ready for action. On a large screen on the wall of the corridor, an absurd reminder of daily, safe life was the leaderboard.

Cal shook his head slightly when he saw his name at the bottom. He didn't care really. It didn't matter to him like it did to the others. It was his choice to go after Harper. He shook himself out of his thoughts and stepped up on top of the barricade, alongside Florida, who had placed his helmet on.

"You ready?" Cal asked, as Florida readied his weapon. Florida nodded happily.

"We'll take these whippersnappers out yet Cal, mark my words. This will end up just dandy!" Apparently, the grimace was only part of what Florida was feeling, as he could still make these enthusiastic remarks with the same amount of vigour as when he unexpectedly found out someone had cleaned his weapon for him that one time.

York stepped up and grabbed the machine gun, aiming it straight at the door.

"Alright people, this is it!" he yelled and everyone tensed.

Time trickled by. No aliens appeared.

The marines sweated inside their helmets, weapons aimed at the door.

Time snailed by.

York gritted his teeth in preparation and frustration.

Time inched by.

Cal imagined what would happen if someone died in this. If York or Mich or even him died. He shuddered slightly. He slowly raised his SMG's and flicked the small switch on the side to Auto-Fire. No need to hold back on this one.

Then, thuds were heard ahead. Footfalls approaching the door. They got closer and closer and closer. They were approaching rapidly.

This could be it. This could be his, or someone else's death.

The footfalls reached the door.

Nothing happened.

Cal frowned and opened his mouth to ask for orders.

The doors exploded and aliens spilled out into the hall.

These were not what Cal was expecting. He wasn't sure what he was expecting. A variety of different species maybe? But there was just two species here. There were loads of little, dog-like creatures wearing masks and yapping ferociously, sprinting forwards with vigour. And there was something else at the back; Cal couldn't quite make it out. It was large and it moved slowly, predatorily.

The group opened fire at the exact same time that the automatic turrets did.

The bullets ripped straight through the oncoming foot soldiers. Armour crumpled and shrapnel flew through the air, opening wounds. Skin was ripped and blood was blown out of the aliens from several directions, bright blue and luminous in the dim red light from the emergency power. The aliens fell in pools of their own vastly growing blood and died, gasping for air or dead instantly, but more continued on, clambering over their fallen comrades to wade into the next wave of bullets that would smash them off of their feet.

Cal continued to fire, using both of his sub-machine guns to spread a great wave of bullets around. York was firing the machine gun down the corridor, mowing down the tiny creatures as they continued to advance like a great wave that would swallow them if it reached them. Massa was shooting down the corridor, assault rifle firing repeated but short bursts in an attempt to conserve their rather limited supplies.

"Hold on fella's, this ought to teach them a well earned lesson!" yelled Florida from Cal's left side and he turned, almost in slow motion, to watch as Florida hefted his assault rifle, aiming slightly upwards to as to reveal the under barrelled grenade launcher. Cal could just see a familiar shape inside of it.

"Is that-" he began nervously, edging away slightly, though still continuing to shoot ahead.

"Yep!" Florida grinned, aiming carefully into the throng of claws and guns.

"But aren't they the ones you-" Cal continued carefully, half trying to reason with Florida and half admiring him for daring to use these types of grenades.

"Yep!" Florida repeated, before firing the launcher, sending the Type-3 Incendiary Grenade into the seething mass of aliens.

Instantly, flames spread out, coating the creatures of hot, fiery destruction. They screamed and flailed, setting more of them alight as they ran around as a group, yelling and making horrible sounds as their skin burned and their blood boiled beneath what remained of their skin. Those that were lucky were killed by bullets. Those that survived got to roll around until they finally succumbed to the flames. Death was a relief.

Cal sure knew how painful and scarring flames could be.

And then it all started to go wrong.

The oncoming forces were endless, it seemed. Green bursts of what could only be described as plasma streaked from their weapons and flew at the barricade, causing them and the Marines to yell and duck down behind cover. Cal saw Massa hiss as one particular burst scorch her arm as it sailed by, but she was up and shooting again in less than a second.

The Auto-Turrets had run out of ammo or overheated and slowly powered down. The aliens, realising that there was no longer death raining down from all directions, cheered and pushed forwards again, screaming with all of their might.

York cried out as another burst of plasma, purple this time, hit his turret and sizzled straight through the barrel, dissolving the metal and melting it before it cooled and re-solidified, in a shape that had no hole for bullets. York kicked the useless weapon to the side and straightened up, before cocking his shotgun and turning back to the oncoming mass of extra-terrestrials.

"Well," he said easily, "this is where it gets really tough."

And he jumped off of the barricade and into the aliens.

Cal holstered his weapons and drew his pair of machetes, before leaping down and joining him.

It was utter chaos.

From above, the battle had looked almost coordinated, and easy to see. But down below, inside the mass of snarling teeth and slashing claws and weapons, it was hard to see what was happening. The aliens came up to about Cal's midriff, giving him an advantage, but there were many of them. Cal whirled around, blades slicing through strange masks and severing limbs. The aliens screamed as they struggled to focus their weapons on him, but either their arms or part of their weapons were cut away almost instantly.

He lunged forwards and stabbed another one into the large, protruding tank on its back. In seconds, there was a large hissing as gas rushed into the air and the alien's yells became panic stricken. Cal withdrew his blade instantly and the resulting spark ignited the gas.

Cal found himself tumbling backwards through the air as the space the creature was standing in was completely immoliated. He winced at the sudden impact with the wall behind him, but stood up slowly. He surveyed his surroundings.

The flames had caught and spread, with fire everywhere, on the aliens, on the walls and reflected in the visors of his fellow Freelancers, who had all jumped into the fray by now.

The Marines seemed to have slowed their rate of fire to accommodate for friendlies entering their lines of sight, but four Freelancers easily beat several Marines in terms of usefulness. There were very few of the small aliens left now. One of them ran at Cal, but it was gunned down by the combined efforts of York, Massa, Florida and Cal himself.

The corridor was clear.

"Good job, fella's!" Florida chirped out and Massa nodded, smiling. York opened his mouth to give out some new orders before a shot rang out and he gasped. A purple streak had passed straight through his left shoulder and into the wall. York collapsed instantly as the rest of the team whirled around and opened fire on the Jackal like creatures at the end of the hall. There were few of them, but they were nasty with those rifles of theirs. Pretty soon, their endless barrage of bullets was joined by a groaning York and the Jackal things were finished easily.

"So... Wave Three anyone?" Cal asked, grinning widely.

And then the air was full of bugs. A swarm of them, pouring from the vents as they flew into the area and buzzed around the group, raining plasma down on them. The Marines were screaming from behind them, but none of the Freelancers could even see past the bugs, let alone get through them to help.

York's shotgun was useful and Massa kept up a continuous spray of bullets, loading a new clip into the rifle even before the discarded one had touched the floor. Florida's incendiary grenades were especially useful and Cal distinctly heard him _humming_ as he casually swatted their attackers. Cal himself was slashing and carving as many of the buggers as he could, but the group was being completely swarmed with no cover. York scowled, before opening his mouth to say something, be it emotional farewells (which Cal doubted, as Carolina wasn't in the room) or one last order.

And then, the air around them exploded as the bugs were slaughtered by various weapon fire that didn't come from them. The group whipped around to see South, Mich, Georgia and Ark burst into the area, their combined assault completely wiping out most of the attackers. Cal joined in on the attack with a laugh as Mich walked casually over, still shooting.

"What took you so long?!" Cal yelled as he ducked a vicious swipe from one of the remaining bugs.

"Well, you know," Mich replied, grinning. "Traffic and all that!"

"Sarcasm," Cal raised an eyebrow. "I really am rubbing off on you!"

Mich swung a punch at a low flying bug, which _somehow _missed and hit Cal on the arm instead. Laughing, Cal saw South run over to help Florida, wearing what was unmistakably a bandolier of grenades. His question of "Weren't bandoliers for old people?" was met with a savage, "Shove it gramps!"

Ark had met up with York and was conversing as the other six finished off the bugs. Around six Marines were still standing by this point.

"Alright," York was saying. "Motions sensors are only picking up a few enemies here, so you might want to head over to someone else now." Ark nodded and turned to leave.

A stomping noise came from right outside the door.

Everyone froze as a massive, spiked behemoth entered, one arm taken up by a huge shield and the other sporting a cannon.

"Ah, Ark?" York asked carefully and quietly, as though not to provoke the monster. "About that help?"

The creature raised its cannon with a grunting noise and a ball of green, deadly energy gathered at the end.

"Oh shit!" Cal yelled, diving to the side as the cannon discharged a massive beam of energy where the group had been standing. A deafening explosion filled the air as the group got back up and the creature, snarling at their survival, charged its beam thing again. As the group moved to dodge, the beam impacted the barricade, blowing a massive hole in it. The Marines yelled and moved to cover the hole with crates and anything else available to them.

Cal sprinted forwards machetes catching the light. As he rounded the creature, he swung at its armour, but his blade was deflected. Seconds later, the thing whirled around, aiming at him until Ark's gunfire distracted it. Ark rounded the creature as well, catching up to Cal as the rest of the group engaged the second spiked alien that entered the room shortly after the first.

"See anything useful?" Ark asked as they dodged another swing from the snarling creature.

"Not really. The thing has a few gaps around the neck, leg and back, but nowhere that we can get to on our own." Ark nodded absently, knocking the cannon aside so that the beam intended for them instead connected with the wall.

"Well, we'll need to work together. Not ideal, but given the choices..." Ark trailed off as Cal smirked. Slowly, he offered Ark one of his blades, remembering the last time that he'd faced him holding one. Ark took the blade slowly, before sprinting around to the other side of the creature and slashing at one of its knee joints. The thing snarled and whirled around, attempting to hit Ark, but he ducked, allowing Cal to open up a cut along the thing's back, generating a howl. Ark took the opportunity to cut its kneecaps and the thing stumbled, before firing at Ark, who barely dodged in time, but was impacted by its shield, sending him into a wall.

He managed to regain his senses enough to jump aside before he was vaporised by plasma, but barely. The creature turned to Cal and stabbed forwards with the spiked shield. Cal jumped atop the shield and ran forwards, stabbing the thing in the neck. With a howl, it tried to shake him off, beam cannon discharging and almost taking off Ark and Cal's heads. Before Cal was completely destroyed, Ark stabbed the other machete into the back of the thing's neck, causing it to stiffen. Cal ripped his blade upwards, removing the thing's helmet, before throwing said blade to Ark, who caught it and in one deft movement, took the monstrosity's head right off.

Handing Cal's blades back to him, Ark turned to see the others finishing off the other one of the pair with a cleverly planted grenade. Or three. Placed in different location. Massa emptied a clip into its neck. Just for good measure.

As the group surveyed the countless bodies they had amassed around them, any ill feelings between them all seemed to ease slightly. They had just gone through a huge battle together though. Cal was left wondering though, as he looked back on the memory of the battle. There was something there, at the beginning of the fight. Something moving gracefully and predatorily. Something that hadn't been killed.

And then, as Cal reached that conclusion, the air shimmered around the group, revealing several tall, armoured creatures wielding what were unmistakably swords that shimmered as plasma ran along the course of their blades, seeming to rend the very air through which they passed apart.

Without pre-amble, the group opened fire. Their bullets were stopped short of their goal by what seemed to be a shimmering blue shield around the aliens, saving their lives and endangering the Freelancer's own. The creatures snarled and dived forwards, just as another wave of aliens poured through the door. Cal found himself deflecting the energy blade of one alien with his own twin machetes. It was hard work, these aliens clearly knew their swordplay and Cal's energy levels were being drained. Eventually, his feet were kicked out from under him and he found himself on the floor with the alien atop him. Now, Cal wasn't into aliens. Much. So this position didn't appeal to him. Much.

He raised his SMG and placed it against the creature's chest, seeing if it would be reflected backwards. It wasn't. He pulled the trigger and the bullets punctured the alien's chest, before exiting its body. And ricocheting off its shield back into it. The thing jerked and collapsed to the side. Cal picked up its deactivated sword and clipped it to his belt. Just for research. The small aliens had arrived and plasma filled the air around them. This time, they had brought grenades. Plasma grenades. Of course it was plasma, Cal noted dully as he flew through the air _again!_ Why would it be anything else?

Suddenly, Mich stumbled backwards in front of him, obviously having taken a blow. Cal saw something flying her way and without thinking, threw himself at her, taking them both down as a long, purple needle impacted against the wall next to their heads. Before she could respond, he was bowled over, his machetes leaving his hands and his helmet going flying off his head as another of the large, skilled aliens kneeled on top of him, sword aimed towards his stomach. Cal's hands grabbed its own hands, halting the motions of the blade and preventing it from entering him. Mich was occupied with her own alien and didn't see his predicament.

Cal was stuck there for what could have been a second or an hour, staring into the eyes of the alien. It roared at him, jaws splitting open and spittle spraying across his face.

"Jesus! Someone introduce this guy to a toothbrush. Or a dentist!" Cal yelled, still struggling to prevent his own impalement. Split-jaw was clearly winning as the blade inched closer and closer to Cal. Then, he saw another Split-jaw sneaking up on Ark, who was engaging another one with his shotgun. And now really wasn't the time for rivalries. He saw his SMG lying a few inches away and gritted his teeth, preparing himself for what he was about to do.

He let go of the sword with one hand and grabbed the SMG, raising it and firing several shots into the creature behind Ark's head, killing it, just as the sword entered his stomach.

His screams, mingled with the Split-jaw falling against Ark, caused him to whirl around. Cal saw him mouth the words, _oh shit!_before he was beside Cal, shooting the creature stabbing him in the head and dragging him backwards, towards the barricade. Somewhere along the line, Cal saw Florida go flying as one of the purple needles imbedded itself into his shoulder and exploded. He saw South and Georgia shooting as many as they could as they covered Florida as he attempted to get back up. He saw York firing his shotgun one handed, clutching his wounded arm at his side.

Somewhere along the line, Mich joined Ark in pulling Cal back through the barricade and ordering the Marines to cover them. He felt... strange. He was sort of... floaty. He felt above it all and watched the struggling Freelancers with a grin on his face. How weird everything felt. His body was going numb as blood spilled from him and across the floor, leaving a pair of bloody streaks where he had been dragged. The wounds on his stomach had been cauterized by the sword, but the exit wounds were open still. As they lay him against a wall, he regained his wits.

"Still... not square!" He gasped, staring at Ark, who seemed taken aback. "You... shot mine. I shot... yours. I got stabbed. We're... not... square..." And with that but of wisdom, Cal fell under.

He heard things dimly. He heard Massa yelling, "Get... defibril- now!" He smiled faintly, wondering what was going on and why he couldn't see. Was everyone playing hide and seek? Was he wearing a blindfold? Where was he?

Then, a shock coursed through his body, flooding his nerves with energy as his eyes snapped open and he shot forwards, gasping as Massa and Mich came into focus, with Ark shooting outwards through the barricade.

"Cal!" Mich yelled, before leaning forwards and hugging him. Cal was stunned and didn't move until Mich was promptly pushed away by a professional Massa, who was receiving a can of biofoam from Killian, who retreated hastily. As she pumped him full of the stuff, sealing his wounds, Cal became aware that his hair, which was usually spiked, was soaked through with his own blood and was plastered across his face.

"York!" Ark yelled, "We've got to go. We've just got an idea, but we need to meet up with North's team first! Might give us a chance to even out these odds a little bit! Do you think you guys can hold them off?"

"Go." It was all that needed to be said. Ark drew himself up and steadily retreated, calling for the Patrol Team to come with him. Mich, who hadn't left Cal's side, hesitated, before leaning forwards and pushed the damp hair out of Cal's eyes.

"Stay safe," she muttered, before standing up and leaving. Cal stared after her for a while, faintly wondering why his head was spinning slightly, before snapping himself out of it and standing up groaning. Those swords really did a lot of damage. He stumbled forwards until he reached York, where he tapped him on the shoulder.

"York, we need to _move! Now!"_ York hesitated, before looking around at the lost situation. Another wave of aliens was pouring in and the vents disgorged another load of bugs. At the back, Cal saw more Spiked Things entering and several Split-Jaws were still in the mix. York shook his head slightly, before activating his radio.

"F.I.L.L.S.! Shut down all blasts doors around the core! Now!"

Without hesitating, the corridor as suddenly segmented by multiple blast doors sealing themselves. Any aliens in the corridor had just been completely carved up.

The team regrouped on the other side of the barricade. There were the Freelancers and four Marines remaining, including their leader.

"Burns, I want you and your men to take any remaining ammunition through the side duct and into the medical bay. Take it all, anything that can help us. Anything!"

Burns nodded, before turning to his men. "On it! Ramsey, get the ammo! Heyman, scavenge any weapons that you can! I want them all! Hullum, help the injured one to the bay." The Marines nodded and went about their tasks, Hullum draping Cal's arm over his shoulders and walking to the door. Slowly, the eight man group made their way to the medical bay.

York sighed heavily as he sat down on one of the beds. "I had to redirect them." He said at their inquisitive looks. "They're probably on their way here right now. There's no other ways out. This is where we make our last stand."

Cal looked around. Florida was nursing his shoulder, but still managing to put on a cheerful expression. Massa was conversing with Killian about the remaining medical supplies. York himself was sporting a worried look as he tested his injured shoulder. Burns was observing his remaining men with sadness and regret. Hullum was pacing backwards and forwards, his hands clutching his rifle, while Heyman was just sat there, staring at the wall.

The tension in the air was tangible. As was the despair. They had tried so hard to win, or to kill the aliens. But in the end, the onslaught was inevitable.

Damn it, Cal thought as he clenched his fists. We just. Can't. Beat. Them!


	71. Chapter 70: Dysfunctional but Deadly

**(A/N) NicKenny back, with your usual Monday update. Big thanks to LanaLlama for putting Saturday's chapter up, as I was away with friends for the weekend. Now, however, I'm back and refreshed, and ready to bring you all something more...violent then you've ever seen before. After all, Penn, Maine and Alaska teaming up? That's not going to be a pretty sight. Think the MoI might just become flooded with blood.**

**New RvB episode out in less than two hours, and fingers crossed that it's not a PSA. Because that would just be cruel.**

**As always, enjoy!**

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**Chapter Seventy - Dysfunctional but Deadly**

**Agent Pennsylvania**

**Written by Jerem6401**

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"_Insanity in individuals is something rare – but in groups, parties, nations, and epochs, it is rule." __– Friedrich Nietzsche_

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"Keep in tow!" Carolina screamed from up ahead. "Don't fall behind!"

I followed her through the snaking corridors, Alaska at my side, and Maine bringing up the rear. Even though Alaska and I had been here just as long, Carolina still seemed to know her way around better than any of us. I could have easily followed the signs to the main hangar, but there was no time for that. The MoI was shaking furiously as it was bombarded with plasma cannons from the Covenant Destroyer right at our doorstep.

I had been standing at the window, watching, when that thing appeared. One moment there was nothing, just the blackness, and the next, space itself just tore open and that fleet erupted out of it. That huge battleship, with phantoms and banshees buzzing around its surface like bees. I hate that demonic technology of theirs, that purple fire that sparks out of every weapon they use.

"What's our plan of action, Carolina?" Alaska called out. We all skidded to a stop just as we broke into the main hangar. We were on a walkway above a row of pelicans and warthogs. I looked out the main shield door in front of us, which allowed objects to pass through, but not our oxygen. We could see phantoms on approach, silhouetted by hovering banshees and seraphs behind it.

"We hold the hangar!" Carolina ordered. I looked at the pelicans docked in the hangar, being prepped to take off into battle. The pilots were scrambling around, trying to fuel up and prepare for take-off while the MoI rocked back and forth, knocking several of them to the floor.

"You there!" I yelled at one of the pilots. He turned sharply and looked up at me. "Leave some of the pelicans in the hangar! We can utilize their weaponry to take out some of the fleet! Those sons of bitches are more dangerous inside the MoI than attacking her surface!"

Suddenly I felt a hand grab my arm. Carolina ripped me around so I was facing her.

"The Director placed me in charge of this squad, Penn," she growled at me. "Not you. Don't be giving orders under my command!"

The nerve of her! I was trying to make sure the ship was protected, and she was going to let this ranking get in the way! I grabbed her wrist and gripped it as hard as I could, feeling her gauntlet armour crimple under the pressure. I pushed her away from me and stared into her visor.

"I'm going to do whatever it takes to make sure those alien bastards don't flood our ship and murder its passengers," I angrily replied. "If you get in my way of doing that, you'll just be considered another threat to the cause." I took a step towards her and grunted. "And threats need to be eliminated."

She didn't back down, and instead stepped even closer to me. "I'm surprised you can't remember the last time you were in my squad with that thick head of yours," she snapped back. "You have a track record of not obeying my orders, and getting shot because of it. If you're willing to let it become a pattern, then be my guest. But until you wind up dead on the floor, I'm going to keep giving orders to _my_squad."

She walked by me, butting me out of the way. I glared at her. I knew that this wasn't the time for our fight, not with an entire alien fleet at our doorstep. I looked at all the pilots running around the bay, panicked, and some even seemed to be weeping as they tried to fasten their helmets into place.

Maybe this wasn't _my_time.

The time for me to run this squad.

I was in no position to pretend anyone on this team has a spotless past with me. Not that I cared. But I wasn't the one worrying about being dead at the end of this fight… no… that was all the helpless pilots, medics, and engineers on board.

"Carolina!" I called out. I turned and she looked back at me. I sighed and shook my head. "Don't take orders from me… but at least call it a suggestion."

She stared at me for a moment and then looked down at the hangar in front of us. The pilot was still standing in the same spot, waiting for a response from us. Carolina leaned forward and cupped her hand in front of her helmet.

"Do as he says, pilot," she ordered. "Leave two of the pelicans inside of the hangar and use their turrets to thin the oncoming attack."

The pilot nodded and ran to his pelican. I looked at the hangar doors, seeing the two phantoms getting closer and closer with each passing second. It would only be other minute or two before they were comfortably docked in this hangar.

"Alaska!" Carolina yelled. "You're with me! We're going to hold this upper walkway and take down the covenant from a distance, keep them in this hangar, soldier! No Covvie gets any further into the MoI than this. Understood?"

Alaska nodded and pulled out his DMRs, holding them both firmly at his side. Carolina then turned around, pointing at me and Maine. "You two are going to be down on the floor. It's going to be close combat… so take some shotguns from the supply racks behind you before going down there."

"Roger," Maine spoke deeply. He walked past me, staring into my visor while he did. He was heading towards the shotguns, ready to arm himself for the fight. Before he made it past me, I grabbed his arm, holding him back.

Maine stopped and turned to face me, squaring off with me. "Don't… touch… me…" he growled. I smirked at the cockiness of this guy. Pretending he could threaten someone like me. I didn't care if he was bigger than me. He had already lost to me in a fight once, and I certainly wouldn't let him walk away from a second.

"You forget," I started, "I've seen you in battle, very closely I might add." Maine snarled again as his hands rolled up into fists. I stayed perfectly silent, before throwing my arm forward and cracking Maine in the side of the head. I don't know what possessed me to do it, or if it was the right thing for the situation… but it made perfect sense to me… so it would make perfect sense to someone like Maine. He quickly stood back up and grabbed my chest plate, holding me tightly in his grasp. "

That make you mad, big guy?" I asked, happily. "How about this?" I ripped his hands off me and kicked him in the shin, knocking him to his knees, before throwing my foot into his chest, launching him onto his back.

"THAT'S IT!" he yelled. He leapt to his feet and ran at me, but before he could throw a punch, Carolina was between us, holding us apart.

"Penn!" she yelled, like I was some kind of child. "What the hell is wrong with you?! What are you doing?!"

"Look at him!" I yelled at her. "He's a monster, Carolina." I heard Maine hold his breath for a second, like what I said hurt him… but I know that could never be the case. "He's just like me, Carolina."

I looked up at Maine and nodded to him. "Get mad, Maine! Get angry! Look at yourself! You don't need some fucking shotgun in your hands, weighing you down!"

Maine seemed to loosen up for a moment. He lifted his hands into the air and looked down at them, before clenching them into fists once again. "We're clearing that floor, Maine."

He looked back up at me, staring into my eyes, with nothing visible through that massive domed visor. Then he slowly lowered his hands and nodded to me. He stepped closer, pushing Carolina out of the way and standing only inches from me.

"This," he said quietly. "Is not over, Penn." I smiled and slapped him on the shoulder.

"I'd be disappointed if it was."

Maine turned away and jumped down to the hangar floor, without grabbing any weapons at all. Armed with just his fists… the way it should be. I took my assault rifle and detached it from my armour. I looked it over for a moment. It was in pristine condition, like it had never been used. Then I threw it onto the ground and prepared to jump down to the hangar below.

"Penn," Carolina began. "Don't be an idiot. Take your weapons with you. We need all the firepower we can manage."

"Save it, Carolina," Alaska called out. Carolina turned to look at him. He was leaning against the railing between the upper walkway where we stood, and the drop to the hangar below. "Penn and Maine… they're the kind of people who carry their best weapons with them every second of their lives."

Carolina sighed and turned back to me. I didn't look at her, and instead watched the phantoms outside get closer and closer. The front of the first phantom began to poke its way through the hangar's barrier, and soon we were going to be flooded with covenant.

"Get down there, Penn," Carolina ordered. I nodded and climbed up, so I was standing on top of the railing. "And Penn…" I turned back and looked down at her. She nodded and lifted her DMR to its ready position. "Give them Hell."

I snickered and turned back to the hangar in front of me. "Make sure you're watching closely, Carolina."

I smiled under my helmet and leapt off the railing, falling for a short while before crashing onto the metal floor of the hangar. The phantom was now completely inside of the hangar. Maine and I watched the sides of the phantom unfold, as the troops within prepared to drop into battle. I held my fist in the air.

"Wait for it," I commanded. Maine knelt down, getting ready to charge. We could see the first of the grunts start to poke their heads out of the phantom, looking down at us.

"Wait for it." Suddenly, what seemed like hundreds of covenant jump from the ship. A motley crew of grunts, jackals, skirmishers, brutes, and elites, all raining down from the massive machinery above our heads. We could hear the plasma weapons spinning up and felt the ground shake as the brutes slammed onto the metal grating.

"ATTACK!" Maine and I took off from our positions, diving straight into the group. There could have been elites with swords in front of us, aliens with fully charged plasma rifles that could melt through our armour… but we didn't care. It was do or die. Just the way I like it.

"Spin them up!" Carolina yelled to the pilots. The giant mini-guns on the two pelicans started to spin into action and rain a hailstorm of bullets into the group of attackers.

Maine and I jumped into the mix, dodging bullets and falling bodies as we did. Sparks and blood showered over us as we expertly navigate through the crowd, picking our moment to strike.

Carolina and Alaska began tossing grenades into the mix, adding the danger of explosions to our run. I grabbed a grunt by his head and ripped him into the air, before using his body to beat a nearby jackal into a bloody pulp. The grunt's backpack suddenly burst a leak, and green smoke started to pour from it. I turned and hurled the dead grunt into a group of his friends, before his pack exploded and blew all of them to smithereens.

I felt a hand grab my shoulder as an elite tore me from the massacre and held a sword firmly in his hands. Small sparks of blue lightning leapt from it and danced in the air. I got ready to fight back, maybe sacrifice an arm to keep myself alive, when Maine's hands wrapped around the elite's head, and ripped it around, killing it instantly with an ear-splitting _crack_.

I nodded to him for just as second as we stepped past each other. Two brutes were on either side of us, both with hammers at the ready. The brutes ran in, swinging their gravity hammers like baseball bats. In unison, Maine and I put out one hand and caught the hammer in the air. The force of the swing embedded our boots into the metal floor below, but we both held our ground. I grabbed the handle of the hammer and swung it, taking the brute for a ride and launching him across the room.

I watched Carolina and Alaska fill him full of lead in mid-flight like he was a clay pigeon. Maine tightly gripped the other brute's hammer. The brute was trying to force it downwards to crush Maine, but he held his ground. Eventually the handle of the hammer snapped in two like a toothpick. Maine grabbed the top of the gravity hammer, and using it like a set of brass knuckles, smashed it into the side of the brute's head, making it erupt into a volcano of discoloured blood.

"Penn!" Alaska shouted. "You got more troops about to drop in! We need to take this dropship out before the next one shows up! We'll get overwhelmed!"

I looked up at the phantom as the pelicans began riddling it with bullets. Panels began to fall away, and eventually I could see it. The bottom section of the phantom's reactor core, flashing red as it took more and more damage. I needed an explosive in there… but I had none with me, and Alaska and Carolina didn't have an angle on the reactor. I looked down at the hammer in my hands and then at Alaska.

"Grenade!" I yelled. Without so much as a question, or even whether or not I wanted the pin inside, Alaska pulled the pin on a frag and threw it directly at me. I waited for the exact moment, making precise calculations in my mind. I slammed the hammer into the ground, the shockwave spinning the grenade into the sky and making it crash into the reactor.

The explosion rocked the entire phantom, which quickly began to back out of the hangar. Blue fire leapt from its sides, and more purple panels began to tumble onto the ground and out into space.

However, it was almost immediately replaced by another, which began to lower its gates as soon as it took its position above us. When they opened, Alaska and Carolina unloaded on its passengers. Bodies rained down over me and Maine. It was a beautiful thing. I looked at Maine, a smile on my face… which instantly vanished. Maine was looking back at me, but there was something behind him… or… was there? The air was shimmering, with no enemy in sight.

"Maine!" I yelled. "Your six!"

Maine quickly turned, just as the bright glow of a plasma sword shot out the back of his armour. An elite took form as his cloaking wore off, his sword buried in Maine's shoulder and ripping out the back. Smoke was rising from the wound and Maine's body shook every time another spark leapt from the weapon. It growled at him and pulled him so their faces were right next to one another.

"MAINE! NO!"

I took off running towards the two. The elite threw Maine to the ground, not knowing I was on my way. He stood over Maine and prepared to deliver the killing blow. However, before he could, he looked upwards seeing me directly in front of him. I had loaded up a punch on the way, and had the full momentum of my run behind it. I threw my fist into the elite's face, burying it between all four of his jaws. The punch was so forceful, I felt the elite's face give way, and it's neck crack against the pressure, killing it instantly. I held still for a moment as the elite's body crumpled and fell to the floor.

I was about to check on Maine, when I heard another growl behind me. I turned to see two more elite's closing it, their cloaking fading away. Suddenly both of their heads exploded into blood and horrible cries. They fell to the ground next to their comrade. I looked up seeing Carolina and Alaska both making another notch in their weapons. After giving a mock salute, I knelt down next to Maine and examined his wound.

"Penn," he started, attempting to stand up but collapsing almost immediately.

"You'll be fine, Maine," I interrupted. "The wound most likely won't be fatal. Plasma has a tendency to cauterize any wound it makes, so you shouldn't lose too much blood. "

"Penn," he said again. He was obviously trying to tell me something. Maybe he really thought he was going to die… maybe he was trying to deliver his last words.

He grabbed my shoulder and pulled me in a little closer. Suddenly he forced his arm back and threw me away, knocking me to my backside.

"Get the hell off me!"

He sat up and brushed himself off. It was amazing. Plasma wounds are among the most painful things a human can endure, and he had no reaction at all.

I looked up at the phantom, hearing another wave of troops getting ready to drop in.

"We need to take out the ship." Maine nodded to me and felt himself for grenades. He had none, and a quick lookover told me that Carolina and Alaska were out as well, using the last of them on the most recent wave of enemies.

I turned and looked at a Warthog behind me, waiting to be airlifted into battle. I thought for a second before running to it. "Maine, get over here!"

I grabbed the tow-hook and looked it over. I turned around and handed it to Maine. "Attach this to my back," I ordered.

"What?" Maine asked. "Why would I…"

"Do it!"

Without another question Maine hooked me up and took a step back.

"How good is your arm?" Maine looked up at the phantom and sighed. He looked down at the wound in his shoulder and rolled it out, giving himself a little stretch.

"Good enough," he replied.

**"Penn,"** I heard over the radio. Carolina's voice sounded almost concerned. **"What are you doing down there?"**

"My job," I quickly replied. Maine grabbed the sides of my armour and took a step back. He lunged forward and rocketed me towards the phantom. I grabbed the side of the phantom's gate and crawled on-board.

"AAHHHHH!" I looked up, seeing a grunt run in fear away from me. A group of jackals jumped to attention as he passed by and got ready to open fire. I quickly got to my feet and ran in, slamming my fist through one of the jackal's shields. I grabbed its throat and crushed it, before taking hold of his shield and throwing it like a Frisbee at the others. It sailed towards them at neck level, tearing through their scrawny throats and dropping their heads to the floor.

I turned back around just as the last elite on the ship came charging at me. He was wearing bright gold armour which had glowing orange tubes along it. He tackled me to the ground and furiously began punching away at my armour. My HUD began to light up as my armour started to bend and buckle under the onslaught. My visor cracked and suddenly vision was a real issue.

I reached up through the onslaught and grabbed two of the elite's four jaws. I ripped them off of his head with two spurts of blood, sending him sprawling to the ground in pain. He reached to his hip in between cries and pulled out his plasma sword. He spun around, swinging at me, but I ducked underneath.

These aliens were skilled, and powerful, but clearly hadn't been expecting a serious fight when they began this assault, not knowing what lay in store for them when they attacked the MoI.

I threw my leg forward, kicking out the elite's knee. I put one hand on his shoulder and grabbed his wrist with my other hand. I yanked my arm back and tore his arm off of his torso. The elite roared again and fell to his backside. I held the elite's arm in my hands, spinning it around so the plasma sword it still gripped was facing its former owner.

The elite slowly tried to slide away from me, waving me back with his remaining hand and shaking his head in fear, like I was some kind of monster from a nightmare. Maybe I was. I slapped his hand out of the way and knelt down on top of him, pinning his chest to the floor with my knee.

"You attacked the wrong ship," I muttered. "We are the elite here… not you. You have no idea what war you just dragged yourself into! We are freelancers!"

I threw my arm forward and buried the plasma sword into the elite's forehead. He squirmed for a moment as the plasma melted his brain, filling the room with a deep purple smoke. Finally he stopped moving and laid flat on the ground. I slowly stood up and turned around, looking at the reactor behind me.

**"Penn!"** Alaska yelled over the radio. **"That phantom is leaving the hangar! You need to get out of there!"**

I looked out the gate of the phantom, seeing the barrier of the hangar passing by and giving way to the blackness of space.

"Aw shit."

I quickly ran to the reactor and took a deep breath, before slamming my fist straight into it. It started to spark as a small ball of blue fire formed and then shrunk for one second. This thing was about to erupt at any moment… and it was probably going to hurt.

"Double shit."

Suddenly the tow-hook attached to my back pulled tight and I was ripped from the phantom, just as it exploded into a huge ball of blue fire. I was in space, floating as pieces of debris shot past me and ashes covered my armour, turning it almost fully black. The oxygen supply in my suit kicked on as I spun myself around, seeing Maine pulling the cable back into the hangar with his one good arm. I chuckled a few times as I passed back into the hangar and dropped to the floor when gravity took over. I laid on the ground for a moment, taking some deep breaths, when suddenly my radio lit up again.

**"Penn, look out!"** Alaska yelled.

I looked up as Alaska jumped over me, tackling two more elite's to the floor. He started to fight them off, throwing punches and kicks, trying to knock them both out. Alaska was talented, but he wasn't like me and Maine. He couldn't match these aliens in physicality like we could.

I was getting ready to get to my feet, when I saw one of the elites pull out his sword. He swung at Alaska, but wasn't quick enough to hit him. Alaska rolled out of the way and regained his footing. I expected Alaska to jump back into action, this being the perfect time to strike… but something was wrong.

Alaska's eyes were locked on the floor. I looked at where he was staring and saw absolutely nothing. Just some metal grating, stained with the blood of those aliens. Suddenly Alaska jumped towards the spot on the ground and began screaming uncontrollably, the noise travelling through our radios.

**"NO!"** he shouted. **"NO, PLEASE GOD, NO!"** The other elite got ready to attack, but Carolina quickly sniped him out before he could strike the hysterical Alaska.

"Alaska!" I yelled. "What are you doing?!"

Alaska tore his helmet off and threw it to the floor. Tears were started to flow down his face as he placed his hands on the ground.

"NO! You'll be okay! Just hold on! HOLD ON! I won't let them kill you! I promise! Just keep breathing!"

"Alaska! Listen to me!"

"Please, oh God! Please keep breathing! Moi! MOI! Can you hear me?! Say something!"

**"Agent Carolina!"** the Director screamed over our radios. **"Agent Alaska's vitals are rising uncontrollably. What the hell is going on down there?"**

"Director," she replied. "He's just going nuts! He's screaming at nothing!"

I shook my head and took a step closer to him. "What the hell is a Moi?" I asked.

The Director fell silent, but I needed more orders. More aliens were sure to come pouring in at any moment. "Director? What do we…"

**"Agent Pennsylvania, remove Agent Alaska from the battlefield immediately,"** he replied.

I looked at Alaska as he held his hands to his chest, like he was cradling something in his arms.

"But… Director…"

**"That's an order, Agent! We have more dropships on approach**." I sighed and ran to Alaska, before dropping to one knee next to him. He was still sobbing as he rocked himself back and forth, like he was consoling someone.

"Al," I started. "What the fuck are you doing? Get your act together or I'm going to have to…"

Suddenly his hand flew out and slammed into my visor. I fell to the ground as Alaska shot to his feet. He ripped out his pistol and aimed it at me. "Stay away from her!" he yelled.

I gasped and rolled to the side as Alaska fired again and again at me. The bullets sparked off the ground behind me as I went. I jumped to my feet and ran at him, swatting the pistol out of his hands. He kicked out my shin, knocking me to my knees and prepared to throw another punch into my visor. I reached out and caught his fist, holding it firmly in the air in front of me. I jumped forward and slammed my other hand into his chest, rocketing him backwards into the wall of the hangar.

I got to my feet and slowly approached him. He was still shaking off the attack, but there was no time for this. The Covenant were getting ready for another attack any moment. I sighed and balled my hand into a fist one more time.

"I don't know what's wrong with you, Alaska," I said quietly, "but I have my orders. I have to do what the Director says."

Alaska shook his head slowly and then looked up at me. "Penn?"

"I'm sorry, Al."

I threw my fist forward and cracked him in the side of his helmet. His head twisted to the side, making the sweat and tears fling off of his face. He shook for a moment, before collapsing onto the ground in front of me with a loud thud. I closed my eyes and slowly shook my head.

I activated my radio and spoke clearly. "I'm removing Alaska from the battlefield."

Carolina walked up so she was next to me, and also looked down at Alaska. "Maine can get him out of here," she stated. "I want you to…"

"No!" I yelled. She snapped to me, looking into my visor. "Maine can back you up. His wound isn't that bad. I'm taking Alaska. No negotiations."

Carolina sighed and slowly nodded. "Fine. But what the hell happened to him?"

"I don't know. I don't think I want to know."

"Nothing we can do now. Get him out of here, Penn. Apparently this guy's just another psycho on the team. Like we need more of those."

Why did it happen? I don't know, but impulse suddenly took over. I grabbed Carolina by her arm, and slammed my fist into her helmet. She fell backwards, crashing into the ground. Maine ran over and grabber her arm, holding her back before she could lunge back at me. I could tell she was ready for an all-out fight, when the Director chimed in again.

**"Agent Pennsylvania!"** he yelled. **"Remove Alaska now! More troops are incoming."**

I stared at Carolina and slowly bent down to pick up Alaska. "Roger."

I threw him over my shoulder and stepped closer to Carolina as she snapped herself out of Maine's grip. I leaned it, putting my face right in front of hers, even as the Covenant dropships began to enter the hanger. "Look at the three members of your squad right now," I growled. "And then tell me when it really counts… you wouldn't want someone a little bit crazy on your side."


	72. Chapter 71: Sniper Hall

**(A/N) Hey guys, sorry about the late update. Must confess that this was completely due to my own bad memory, completely forgot to update. :/ My bad. This chapter continues on the battle against the Covenant on board the _Mother of Invention_, following North's team of snipers in their defence. Teasers for Phase Two will be coming up shortly, so keep an eye out for those! **

**As I say every update, enjoy!**

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**Chapter Seventy-One – Sniper Hall**

**Agent North Dakota**

**Written by StormBlue**

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"_In three words I can sum up everything I've learned about life; it goes on."_- Robert Frost

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Silence. Staring down the length of the hallway and listening to the quiet of the ship, one might not think that the _Mother of Invention_was under attack, but the silence was deceiving. If anything, it was _too_quiet. A Frigate-class ship such as this one should never be this quiet. But the four Freelancers stationed at this location knew that in reality, battles were raging in various places of the ship, and it was only the solid metal that prevented them from hearing it.

A ruffle sounded right next to him and North jumped slightly, only to realize it was Wyoming readying his sniper rifle. The white soldier turned to him. "Getting a little jumpy, are we?" he asked, his British accent laid thick over the words.

Wordless, North nodded.

Wyoming shrugged. "This dreadful quiet won't last long. Before we know it, those ugly aliens will be coming down that corridor and we'll have our hands full." He said this as if he were commenting on the weather.

"Don't worry, they'll regret messing with us when we're done with them," Virginia remarked. "Any last minute directions, Team Leader?"

North took in his surroundings once more. They were at one end of what was probably the longest hallway that didn't have any side-doors in the _MoI__. _Makeshift blockades had been constructed next to them, and a few turrets were set up to help them as well. His team was with him, consisting of Wyoming, Virginia, Sota and himself, all the best marksmen the Director had to offer to the Covenant. The other teams of Freelancers were handling the Covenant at other places of the ship, and all paths that led to the heart of the _Mother of Invention_had been sealed off...except for this one.

In a way, the Director was funnelling the Covenant forces to this hall, where they would be met by North and his team. If they failed to keep the aliens at bay, the Covenant would have a much better chance at overcoming the rest of the teams and overrunning the ship.

Of course, the same was true for the rest of the teams as well.

"We'll want at least one person on a turret at all times. We can switch off, but that should help when they come in bulk," North said in answer to Virginia's question.

The Director had apparently seen leader qualities in North, as he had been named leader of his team again. He was a quick thinker and could see developments on the field and change the plans accordingly. He was always looking after his team, and could encourage them to work together. He didn't hold false illusions or let pride get the better of him, being practical when it came to completing the objective. And he could always be calm no matter the situation and think with a clear head.

But North didn't feel calm. He was on edge, uneasy. Being startled by Wyoming's simple movements was testament to that. It was unlike him, and he couldn't pinpoint the cause. His thoughts wandered to his twin. Where was she now? Was she in the fight? Was she injured?

South had been placed on Ark's team, rather than his own, so North couldn't keep an eye on her. In fact, that was probably why he was nervous...ever since they were kids, he'd always been there to keep her safe. When they joined the army-she had joined first, but he was quick to follow-they had been stationed together. They worked really well as a team, and he _always_had her back. It wasn't that they'd never been separated during battle but...North didn't know why this was different. Probably because the aliens had gotten a surprise attack on them, and he couldn't check in on her.

Clearing his thoughts, North determined that he needed to focus on what was happening. South was a very capable soldier and could look after herself, and Ark seemed like a decent person, someone who would make sure his team got out of the ordeal in one piece. And North had to do the same for his own team.

Wyoming was perched on a crate by the left corner where he could have a clear view of the hallway and some cover at the same time. He was closer to the ceiling, giving him a slight advantage, but with less manoeuvrability. Virginia was by a turret on the right side, her sniper attached to her back. Sota was a little farther back, checking all his gear again, staying quiet. North himself was closer to Wyoming, though a little more to the middle, standing behind the blockade where he could easily crouch and avoid enemy fire or fire back.

Harsh, guttural voices suddenly reached their ears, bouncing off the wall to them. There was no doubt that they belonged to aliens, and the only reason they could hear them was if the aliens were close. The four of them tensed and got into position, North crouching with only his sniper and head up so he could aim and fire at the enemy. It felt to North as if they were all holding their breaths until a grunt appeared at the other end of the hallway. More followed, and one of them pointed out the barricade that the Freelancers were behind. Finally, an elite leading the squad rounded the corner and shouted at the sight of them and they opened fire.

North took out two of the grunts and Wyoming had landed a head-shot on the Elite before he rolled out the way, and his limp body fell to the floor, a splash of blue staining the ground underneath him. Virginia had also shot two grunts, and Sota took the last one before she could pull the trigger a third time. She glanced back at him, but North couldn't see her expression under her visor.

"The rest will have had to have heard that," Wyoming stated.

"We've got a lot of fight coming our way," Virginia said.

"Then let's do what we do best," North finished.

It was only another minute before more grunts came into view firing their plasma pistols at the Freelancers, who didn't hesitate to start firing. Virginia had grabbed the turret and started mowing them down, but North knew the Covenant were smarter than this...and why was this group only grunts?

The answer came as a carbine shot flew past his shoulder, and he saw two elites ducking behind the corner, popping out only to fire at them. He had his sniper trained on the spot, waiting for the next shot...there! His finger squeezed and the first elite roared in pain, but hadn't been taken out. The other elite jumped out in an attempt to roll to the other side, firing as he did so, but a few bullets from Virginia had taken him out. Still, the shots went right at North's head and he had to duck to avoid them.

Back and forth fire between the freelancers and the elites lasted for a few more minutes, with the grunts providing distractions, but fortunately the four of them had it covered.

"Hey Wyoming!" Virginia called. "What's your count?"

"Do the grunts count? They're not very smart, those little buggers," Wyoming called back.

Virginia thought on this. "Maybe they only count for a half," she replied.

"Then I've got three and a half," he said in answer to her question.

"What, are we keeping score now?" Sota muttered.

North took aim at an elite that was causing them trouble, fired, but missed. He ducked down and went through the familiar movement of reloading. Sota fired next to North. "Got him," he reported.

The grunts suddenly started getting worked up, yelling in their alien language and pointing down the corridor opposite to the one the elites and grunts had been coming through. North couldn't see what it was though. "Incoming!" he warned the others.

"Incoming what?" Virginia asked.

A bestial roar sounded, as well as the pounding of many heavy feet. Then large, hairy, gorilla-looking things appeared. Without warning, they took one glance at the barricade and started charging.

"Oh dear," North vaguely heard Wyoming mutter under his breath.

"Turrets!" North shouted, grabbing the one to his left and aiming it.

"Sota! Take this one!" Virginia yelled as she stepped to the side and pulled out her rifle. Sota grabbed the turret she had been occupying and started firing it.

While North wasn't accustomed to operating turrets, it wasn't hard to hit the large beasts. But it took too many bullets to take them down, and there were about ten of them on a rampage. Wyoming sniper crack sounded and a smoke trail led to the lead brute's skull, and that one, as well as the one directly behind it, crumpled to the ground.

"Double head-shot!" Wyoming said triumphantly. "If the grunts only count for a half, shouldn't these oafs count double?"

North wasn't positive, but he was pretty sure he heard Virginia mumble "Show off."

North himself was concentrated on the enemy and bringing the next one down with his turret. He didn't feel like joking around with his teammates, and while usually he was focused on his team and the mission, he was able to make a quip or two with them. But this time he just...

Virginia's movements pulled him out of his thoughts. She had her rifled in one arm and a grenade in the other. She threw the grenade then in a swift movement, brought her rifle up and shot it in mid-air, rather than waiting for it to explode on its own. The brute immediately by the explosion was killed, and while the rest weren't terribly hurt by it, they were momentarily disoriented. It halted in their rampage for just a moment, but a moment was all that was needed while North and Sota finished them off with the turrets.

The hallway went still. They could no longer see the grunts or elites on the other side, and there weren't any more brutes coming immediately. North left the turret and returned to the comfort of his rifle, scanning the hall.

"Where did they go?" Sota whispered.

"I don't know," North replied. "But I doubt they would quit that easily."

Virginia settled down on a crouch, though still tense and ready for a fight. "Then we'll just have to wait for them."

They waited for something to happen for a few minutes, the conversation between them at a minimum, other than the occasional ignored "Knock knock" from Wyoming. North continued to scan the hall and listen for the approach of more aliens. Just when he was thinking maybe they had decided to try something else, a bright blue laser streamed down the hall.

"Bloody hell!" Wyoming cursed, and North looked at him. He was pressed against the wall out of the line of fire, holding his lower leg.

"Wyoming's been hit!" Virginia cried.

Wyoming waved to them and got back in position. "It's quite alright lads, just a graze. Just be glad that the objective doesn't hinge on us doing a marathon," he tried to joke. North could tell that the words were coming through clenched teeth, however. "Now, where's the little bugger that did that?" Wyoming was a little more careful with his positioning.

North finally saw the little creature. There was a bulky brute body in the way, which was why it hadn't been spotted earlier. It had long jaws and ugly eyes staring at him. He ducked just in time as another blue laser appeared inches from where his head had been. He remembered these guys. The UNSC called them jackals. They weren't hard to kill, but on the field they were always equipped with either handheld shields or the Covenant version of a sniper rifle. This appeared to be the latter.

He lifted his head again as the jackal took a shot at Sota, who dodged. He aimed between the dead brute's arm and the wall and hit his mark. "Got him for you," he said to Wyoming.

"Good," Wyoming muttered, and North felt himself smile a little. Unfortunately, as soon as that one was down, another took its place, and more appeared on the other side of the far entrance into the hall.

"There's more," said Sota, apparently seeing the same thing North did.

The hallway was filled with blue lasers and smoke trails every few minutes in the full-out sniper battle between the freelancers and the jackals. It wasn't fast-paced or terribly exciting like most forms of combat; long-range required more patience and precision skill, whereas close-range and mid-range required more lightning-fast reflexes and people that were quick on their feet. Wyoming and Virginia called out each time they shot one, and even Sota joined in with North in their little sniper competition. It helped to brighten the atmosphere around the team a little, and to North it was good for them to be acting in cohesion as a team. It was easier to focus on the enemy without unnecessary tension between the four of them.

They had downed five of them, with still a couple left, and other than Wyoming, none of them had gotten hurt. After leaning out again, firing, and ducking down after he hit his mark but didn't kill the jackal, his thoughts wandered. What was South doing? How was she faring with her team? There hadn't been a lot of radio activity lately, and he didn't know if that was a good thing or a bad thing. North's body went through the familiar movements of taking a shot again, trying to bring down the last two. Less communications could mean that no one was dying or dead. Less communications would also mean that each team objective wasn't progressing immediately. And if someone got injured, they wouldn't necessarily transmit it-

"North!" someone called, and at the same time the light of a laser temporarily blinded him. Or perhaps it was the stabbing agony that suddenly raced through his right shoulder. He fell back against the crate clutching at the wound, groaning through clenched teeth. One of the jackals had gotten a shot off and he hadn't gotten out of the way in time.

"Are you okay?" Sota asked, kneeling down next to him. North removed his hand and looked at the wound. Chances were, it went all the way through his shoulder, but he could still work around it with difficulty. It wasn't bleeding, as the beam had likely cauterized it.

North nodded to Sota. "I'll be fine."

Sota hesitated a little, then moved back to his previous position. North turned around and moved into a crouch again, gripping his rifle and wincing every time he moved his arm. It hurt, but he had been wounded before, and he knew that he couldn't let his team-or everyone else on the ship-down.

Something almost as agonizing as his injury was gnawing at his brain, however. He had been hit because he hadn't been paying direct attention. He didn't mind that the Jackal got him, as difficult as it was to continue firing at the enemy. It wasn't that, it was...what if one of the others had gotten hit? Wyoming was injured, but his was just a graze. And then, he'd been keeping an eye out for the hidden aliens. They all had. This one was because he had been thinking about South. He would have seen the jackal aiming at him if he had been focused. What if the Jackal had been aiming at Sota's head?

North didn't dwell on 'what if's,' but it was the push he needed to temporarily forget about South. He trusted her-and each of her teammates-to stay safe. And that was all he could do for now. This was one of the times where she didn't need him. She didn't, but his team did.

Wyoming and Virginia called out that the other two were down, and North slowly let out a breath. He peered over the edge of the barricade and used his sniper to zoom in on the other side of the hallway, making sure that there weren't more snipers aiming to take shots. It appeared that the squad had been taken down. Now they just needed to wait for the next wave of Covenant to come down this way. Just then, his radio crackled to life.

**"North Dakota, do you copy?"** came Ark's voice.

North frowned in slight confusion. Why would Ark be calling him? Reaching up to his helmet, he responded. "I copy, Arkansas." He tried to not think about the fact the South was on Ark's team, and that she was possibly the reason for his call.

Thankfully, that didn't appear to be the case.** "I need Virginia_,_"** he said. **"What do you say we do a swap? Virginia for Mich?"**

North looked over to Virginia for confirmation, and she nodded, having listened in on the query. He was about to reply when Sota's sniper suddenly went off and he could hear the sound of plasma guns down the hall. "More jackals," Sota reported.

North turned to help but was halted by Wyoming. "We've got them handled for a minute, mate. Finish your call."

He glanced at the white Freelancer, then crouched down again. "Sorry, had a little distraction," North said a little lightheartedly, speaking to Ark again. "Sounds good. Should I send her over?"

**"Don't bother, we'll be at your position in ten,"** Ark replied.

"Copy that."

With that, North joined his team again and noticed the enemy was startlingly close. Looking closer, he realized why. These indeed were jackals again, slowly advancing behind handheld glowing energy shields. The sniper rounds just bounced off, and it took too many shots to damage the shields enough to get through. The jackals themselves were firing plasma pistols, but their aim wasn't as accurate as that of their sniping kin.

North laid his own rifle out on the edge of the barricade, grabbing a clip from the extra ammo that had been provided to them and reloading quickly, discarding the empty one. He aimed and hit the broadside of the shield, seeing it turn red with the impact. Another shot and it would be out, which Sota was kind enough to divulge and the alien behind it was soon down. They still weren't taking them out fast enough, however.

North examined the shields through the scope, looking for a weakness, but the Jackals were small enough to fit entirely behind the thing. Suddenly, he had his answer, but wasn't sure if it would work or not. Only one way to find out. Taking careful aim, he shot the next target where its ugly hand was in the open, clutched around the oddly shaped weapon it held. The effect was what he had hoped for; the jackal, in obvious pain, had turned to the side, momentarily forgetting about keeping its shield in place in front of its body. North was quick to fire another shot and finish it off. Each shot sent a spike of pain racing through his shoulder, but he continued anyway.

"Aim for the hands," he said to his team, who had no doubt seen what he had done, and they quickly picked it up. Before he knew it, the sound of rushed footsteps sounded behind North, and he fired once more before turning to see the other team. With a quick glance, he affirmed that all of Ark's team was there-Ark, Georgia, Mich, and South.

Mich immediately went to one of the turrets and started hammering bullets into the enemy, and the others joined in as well, providing North and his team with support for a few minutes. He looked over at his twin, making sure she was fine, and though her armour was banged up a little, she didn't appear to be hurt. South looked his way, and he knew she was doing the same to him. He couldn't see her face, but he noticed when she saw his wound, and he gave her a slight nod to let her know he was okay. Not a word was said between them except the silent communication they had developed over the years they had spent together, and she turned to leave.

North stopped Ark with a quick question. "You have a plan?" he assumed.

"I do," Ark confirmed. "Let's hope it works." He then turned again to continue on his way, the others following with Virginia this time. North didn't question him more, as that was all he had needed. They wouldn't be able to keep going for much longer, and the Covenant forced continued to press on them with no end.

More grunts were on the other end now, and Mich's skills with the turret had helped with the incoming jackals. Something was different about these grunts, however. North suddenly took in the gigantic weapons mounted on the grunts' shoulders, and he knew that couldn't be anything good. He shot at the first one right as it got a shot off, and a large green ball of energy barrelled toward them. "Look out!" he called, and dove out of the way.

The barricade he had been behind was blasted away and slammed into the wall behind them. North landed next to Wyoming's perch and sat there for a minute. He had landed on his shoulder, jarring it painfully, and he clenched his hands tightly for a moment as his head cleared and the pain subsided a little.

"We have to take those guys out quickly!" Sota said, and North agreed with him.

He came out around the corner and started firing, but most of his bullets went wide. Shooting at them like this wasn't working. North couldn't hold the rifle like he was accustomed to, and it was showing. Luckily, the others were able to down more of the grunts, but they were still firing with the large cannons of theirs. He looked out again while he reloaded, and his sharp eye caught something. One grunt was crouched behind the bodies of the fallen, unseen by the Sota and Mich, and he doubted Wyoming would be able to get a shot at him, as there was a thick brute arm in the way. The cannon the grunt was carrying was aimed right for his teammates.

He slammed the ammo clip in the rifle and stood fully. He lifted his sniper up and didn't hesitate as he pressed the butt of the rifle into his right shoulder to hold it steady so he could aim accurately, though he did wince considerably. His finger pulled the trigger and he staggered backward, biting his lip against the yell the pain that almost escaped him when the rifle jerked backward into the wound, causing him searing pain. He tasted blood but continued to push on, and he looked over at the dead grunt. The bullet had gone clear through the grunt's weapon and through the alien's head. Something neon green was leaking out of the cannon, and it was glowing considerably. North suddenly realized it was about to blow.

The Grunt was far enough away that it wouldn't cause damage to them, but that distance was shortened considerably when one of Mich's shots broke through the neighbouring grunt's mask, effectively turning it into a rocket and sending the dead grunt body-cannon and all-speeding toward the Freelancers. North didn't even have time to shout a warning before the explosion happened, and several voices called out, though North couldn't tell who was in pain and who was surprised.

As soon as he could, North rushed forward to the first figure he saw. Sota was groaning, but overall looked fine. Mich's rugged breaths and groans reached his ears, and he made his way over to her, where half of her body was being crushed under a broken piece of the blockade. The turret lay in pieces next to her.

"Get it off me!" she screamed, and North knelt down, grabbing the metal in a death grip. His muscles started straining, ignoring the fire pumping through his shoulder, and the thing was lifted about a foot. However, it was much heavier than he had anticipated, and he groaned with the effort. Suddenly, Mich was pulled away from it and North made sure no one else was in the way as he dropped it, narrowly avoiding crushing his fingers. Looking over, he saw Sota crouched next to Mich, examining her.

North was about to join him, but when more shots were fired their way, he remembered that they still had to watch their backs. Wyoming had apparently been knocked off his crate and was now up and returning fire, which North aided. "How is she?" he yelled back to Sota after a minute, worried about her.

"Her arm is broken, and that appears to be the worst of it. There's no telling how many minor injuries she has, though," Sota replied.

"I'll be fine," Mich grunted.

North doubted her words, as they were same words that came out of the mouths of most wounded soldiers, but there wasn't anything they could do about the situation at this moment. Her wounds-as well as his-would get worse the longer they went unchecked, but they had to keep going. If they didn't, the Covenant would win this battle and they wouldn't survive. They had to keep going. Hopefully someone else would hatch a plan that would drive the Covenant back indefinitely before the freelancers succumbed to their injuries and exhaustion.


	73. Chapter 72: The Last Stand

**(A/N) Hey guys, going to keep this short and sweet! This chapter is brought to you by the fantastic Casaric, and, you guessed it, features Killian Jay. For Grifball fans, we are currently looking for one or two writers for our Grifball fic, Grifball: Running Rampant, so if you're interested then get your ass on over to our forum and fill out an application. Now, I'm going to leave you and go to bed, because it is very late.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter Seventy-Two – The Last Stand**

**Killian Jay – Private First Class, Medic**

**Written by Casaric**

* * *

"_Do no harm. That is the founding principle of my practice. The cornerstone is you will. All doctors, nurses, field medics, etc. believe in this principle. ...I guess I'm not a doctor. ...And just between you and me...I'm perfectly fine with that." _- Killian Jay

* * *

Killian was, for lack of a better term, mildly surprised. It's not often that the med-wing's blast doors are sealed by freelancer agents in an attempt to hold off alien invaders. Or perhaps it was the large amount of armed men and women in his presence that surprised him, it wasn't often that you had a battalion of troops milling around in the med-wing. Or maybe it was the magnum that was tossed towards him by the tan-armoured freelancer known as York, and the questions he asked. Mildly surprised indeed.

"York? What are you..." Killian asked, quite shocked at this, as well as the other couple dozen soldiers, including Massa, Florida and Cal's sudden decision that the med bay was the perfect place to stage their last stand. He then seemed to realize what York tossed to him, and nearly dropped the firearm to the floor in a mix of shock and fear.

"...York?" Killian said once more, his tone pensive.

"Killian, there's not a lot of time, so I need you to listen to me." This wasn't laid-back, 'let's have beer' York, this was leader York. He didn't have time to waste on Killian's questions, after all, he had his own, that he needed answered.

"R-right. Shoot." Something didn't feel right, Killian could feel it in his gut.

"How many medics are here, right now?"

"Uh, I'd guess about fifty or so. Why, did people start cutting their damn limbs off or something? Jesus..."

"Killian, focus."

"Right, sorry."

"What about entrances?"

"In total? Well, there's four wings total, each wing has its own entrance, including this one...which you just sealed off. So, four, total. Or three, not counting this one."

"Can we seal off those entrances?"

"Well, yeah, the entire ship has blast doors, and if it worked for this one should work for the other three." Killian said with a shrug.

"Ok, good. That should help buy some time."

"Buy us time from wh-...oh...fuck." Killian felt, simply put, pretty fucking stupid, but given the fact that he had just emerged from an open battlefield, with all of his limbs intact, he thought that he was allowed to be a little slow. After all, this was hardly what he had signed up for. "The aliens, right."

York had turned away from the medic for a moment, telling Massa, Florida and Cal to take some men and go secure the other three entrances with the blast doors. After the troops had been split up, the tan-armoured freelancer turned back to face Killian once more. "I'm hoping you guys no how to use a gun."

Killian crossed his arms over his chest, somewhat insulted. "York, I'm a doctor. I know more ways to kill a person that to help them, so yes, I know how to use a handgun."

"And everyone else?"

"I think you're making it seem harder that it really is. You point at the guy, you pull the trigger, he dies. A mentally retarded monkey could do it."

"But will they?"

"...The monkeys? How the hell am I supposed to know?"

"...The medics, Killian."

"Oh. Well, that's the question isn't it?...They won't shoot us." Killian, in all honestly, didn't know. Sure, they didn't want to die, but they took the oath. ...He on the other hand had his fingers crossed.

"...Good enough. Let's get these guys armed..."

* * *

As reluctant as they were, the doctors eventually agreed to take the various weapons offered to them, and dispersed to each of the four entrances.

"You sure they won't shoot us?" York asked, slightly concerned.

"...No."

"Great."

The next few minutes were tense, as everyone settled down into position staring at the large blast door with unblinking eyes, as if it would disappear if they looked away. York got occasional call ins from the other agents at the other entrances, reporting on the status of their blast door.

It seemed to go on for ages, a deep silence settling over everything, only broken by the occasional cough or the shifting of bodies.

And then...

_thump_

It was almost undetectable, but every tensed up. Time seemed to slow down to a crawl... and then the door exploded.

Four near simultaneous explosions ripped through each of the entrances, obliterating the blast doors. Either those were really high grade explosives, or really cheap blast doors. Killian didn't have time to dwell on the matter as a bolt of green plasma ripped through the air where he was just standing. The soldier who had tackled him to the ground, taking a moment to return fire from his prone position at the on-coming covenant force, blue blood splattering the walls of the med-bay.

From what he could see from his position, back to the floor, the air above him looked like it was on fire. Bolts of blue and green plasma flying across the room, along with the ripples in the air left by the many bullets being pumped into the opposing force.

Killian felt the soldier on top of him roll off of him, allowing him to get to his feet once more.

Everyone was behind a makeshift wall constructed out of medical equipment found in the wing, allowing for some cover during the fight. York and the soldiers were firing like madmen, and the medics were doing their best, but with every enemy downed, another simply took its place, it seemed to never end.

Killian, ducked to avoid another blast of plasma, and began to return fire, launching round after round until the magnum clicked empty. After ducking down, and struggling to reload for a moment he popped back up and started firing once more.

York had retreated to cover to check on the others, and they were, holding out just as well as they were, which was to say, poorly. Massa had taken a plasma bolt to the shoulder and Florida had nearly gotten maimed by a plasma grenade. What was with that man and explosives? Cal, for the most part seemed fine, well, as fine as someone who had just taken a plasma sword to the gut a few minutes earlier could be, but he was starting to get over-run. They really couldn't last much longer like this.

Killian's last clip clicked empty, and he felt, of all things, anger, fill him up. This was not how he was going to die...was it?

The Covenant had pushed through and all seemed lost. It was the end. The story of Killian Jay ends here... oh, wait, nevermind.

Killian watched in awe as the Covenant, with the advantage they held and victory assured...fled. The whole Covenant just up and left. York checked with the other Freelancers, and, to their confusion, the same thing was occurring.

"...Did we win?" Killian asked, slightly confused.

"...I'm...not sure...maybe?" York replied, removing his helmet and taking a deep breath. That had been too close for comfort.

"...Good enough for me."

"Ditto."

Killian took a moment to catch his breath, following York's lead and removing his helmet. The air tasted better when it wasn't filtered and stale. York contacted the other three freelancers, telling them to meet back up with whatever was left of the men they had.

Looking around Killian could tell that they would have lost. Nearly their entire force had been wiped out, with only a few luckily enough to remain unharmed, the rest had pretty bad injuries.

"Well, that sucked..."

"Tell me about it..." Cal murmured, limping into the wing, flanked by Florida and Massa on either side, and the few survivors following behind.

After taking a few minutes to swap stories as to what happened on each of their ends, everyone just sat down. Fighting a four-front battle is hard work, even if you were only on one of the fronts.

A couple of moments as silence passed before Killian spoke. "...And you're supposed to fight those guys? Like, that's your job?..."

"...Yeah." Massa said tiredly.

"And I thought my job was taxing." Killian forced a laugh.

"Trade you." Massa continued.

"Sorry, I can't, I'm allergic to dying. I'll just leave the Covenant slaying up to you."

"Yeah, I guess not everyone has what it takes to be one of us." Cal said, cocky as ever, but he flinched slightly as his plasma burns brushed off against the inside of his armour. That wound would need immediate treatment. Cal was one badass son of a bitch to have remained fighting after taking a knock like that. Killian couldn't help but feel some slight admiration for the freelancer in white and red.

"What, a bunch of loonies?"


	74. Chapter 73: Into the Breach

**(A/N) Hey guys, it's update time, and this one is one of my own! Presenting Agent Arkansas' fight against the Covenant, and how the freelancers defeated them. Just letting you all know, we're currently about to begin our work on Phase Two, so I thought I'd link this image as a kind of…teaser for the upcoming fic:**

**http:''thefreelancercollaboration,wikia,com'wiki'F ile:Targeted,png**

**(Just replace every ' with a / every , with a . and remove the space).**

**A little update for all of our Grifball: Running Rampant readers (bit of alliteration for you all), we're still looking for new writers for the fic, and are encouraging anyone with an interest in Grifball and in taking part in this collaboration to apply. I think you'll all enjoy what we've got lined up for all of our fics over the coming months, so keep an eye out!**

**Finally, thanks to all of you guys who read, and especially those who review too. And, of course, follow and favourite this fic. You guys are awesome, and I'm working on a few ideas on how to display how much we appreciate you.**

**As always, and indeed, for now, enjoy.**

* * *

**Chapter Seventy-Three – Into the Breach**

**Agent Arkansas**

**Written by NicKenny**

* * *

"_No. Don't give up hope just yet. It's the last thing to go. When you have lost hope, you have lost everything. And when you think all is lost, when all is dire and bleak, there is always hope." _― Pittacus Lore, I Am Number Four

* * *

Ark walked out of the observation deck, his team following close behind him, South still seething from the rebuke that she had just received. He paused for a moment, his ears registering the noises of a dozen battles being fought throughout the MoI, as the Covenant fought the defending Project Freelancer forces, and for a brief moment Ark truly felt fear for the first time in his life. The task before him was impossible, the enemy numbers too great, and their own side too spread out to even have the slightest of chances.

They couldn't win. It was impossible to think otherwise.

He bit down on his lip, wondering what on earth he could do to make any real sort of difference in this fight, and his resolve wavered until, out of the corner of his eye, his saw Georgia move forward.

"So Ark, what's the plan," his friend and roommate asked, his voice portraying only eagerness and intrigue, without even a hint of fear. But that was Georgia, after all. Ark didn't think he was capable of feeling despair. Like Florida and York, Georgia always focused on the lighter side, he always held hope close to his heart.

Ark sighed, and steeled himself as he turned around and offered the agent in green a brief smile, before pulling his helmet over his head and sealing it. He couldn't allow himself to appear weak, not in front of Georgia, his one and only real friend on the MoI. He wouldn't…he _couldn't _let him down.

"I haven't got one yet," he admitted, shaking his head slightly. "But I'm working on it. Until then, we follow the Director's orders: detect breaches, close them, and assist the other teams when necessary."

Georgia and Mich nodded, but South merely folded her arms, sneering in reply. "Inspired decision making, Ark. What, will you want us to just stand down and let the aliens in next?"

Ark turned, his fists clenched, and took a step towards South. "I don't have time for your shit, South, but I expect you to fall in line. If you want to cause trouble, then do it after we get through this thing, ok?"

If Ark expected her to apologise and fall in line, then he was disappointed. South gave off a brief laugh and shook her head furiously. "What right do you have to be giving orders around here? I'm the highest ranking of the four of us on the leaderboard!"

'_That damn leaderboard,' _Ark thought grimly to himself, wondering, once more, why the Director had established such a divisive way of ranking his agents. Unless, and this was a new thought, and something potentially worth hanging on to, he actually _wanted _to sow discord amongst his agents. But even so, why would he want to do that? What could he possibly wish to achieve?

Ark shook himself and cast the thought aside for the moment. He had more pressing matters to deal with.

"Look South," he replied, struggling to keep his voice even and calm. "I don't give a shit about what you're trying to prove here, but the Director chose _me _to lead this team, not you, so if you want to go against his wishes, well then by all means, go off and let the aliens tear you limb from limb. However, if you want to stick with us, and maybe have a chance of surviving this thing, then I suggest that you SHUT. THE HELL. UP!"

He paused for a moment, breathing heavily, refusing to break eye contact with the other agent. South seemed to have the same idea, but, eventually, she looked away, and Ark straightened up, satisfied, his anger already fading away.

"If we're going to be taking on groups of Covenant, I want us to have the best possible chance. Let's hit the armoury, see what we can find there. Sync?"

"Sync," the others replied, South grudgingly.

* * *

It had been a mistake, in hindsight, to let Georgia into the armoury. He had immediately frozen up at the sight of all the weapons surrounding him, no doubt salivating underneath his helmet, and, when he had overcome his sudden shock, he pranced about from one weapon to the next, inspecting it, hugging it tightly to his chest like a mother that had just been re-united with her long-lost child.

"How did you get the access codes for the armoury?" Mich asked behind Ark, a note of genuine interest in her voice as she attached her assault rifle to her back and hefted up what looked to be a machine gun turret, the huge gun almost dwarfing the small agent.

Ark just laughed dismissively, waving away her question while keeping an eye on Georgia, who had now just discovered the racks of rocket launchers, and had dropped all of the other weapons he had been carrying in his haste to check them out. "This isn't the first time I've been in here. Project Freelancer might be a high-profile super-soldier project, but their security sucks, quite frankly."

South snorted derisively behind him, but Ark chose to ignore the purple-clad agent, at least for the time being. Hefting a shotgun over his shoulder, he placed the various grenades that he had collected around his waist, and attached a pair of magnums to his side. Mich seemed content with her turret, and South had taken the time to attach a sniper rifle to her back, an assault rifle already in her hands, and a bandolier of grenades attached around her torso. Ark turned to look at the final member of his team, and his jaw dropped almost immediately.

"Georgia, what the fuck do you think you're doing?"

Somewhere behind the pile of weapons in the green agent's arms came a muffled reply. "I just can't decide on one. I want to bring them all!"

Ark sighed and shook his head. "Son of a bitch," he murmured to himself, walking up to his friend and wrestling most of the weapons away from him, leaving Georgia with a rocket launcher and an assault rifle. Slightly, disheartened, Georgia attached the rocket launcher to his back, and exited the room with the others, just as the Director's voice crackled across their radio systems.

"**Ark, we have detected a small breach on the second floor, directly above your current position. Get your team down there and repulse the intruders, immediately!"**

"Understood, sir," Ark swiftly replied, gesturing for his team to follow him as he turned and began to sprint down the corridors, finding a stairway to the higher level. The aliens had already begun to pour out across the level, but had swiftly come into contact with the PF soldiers, and the ship's defensive structures.

The team entered a world of chaos, as the automatic turrets launched a barrage of fire against the attacking Covenant, backed up by about a dozen PF soldiers clad in their characteristic white armour, expressions of grim determination on their faces as they rained fire down on the aliens.

Ark immediately began firing, unloading a round of shotguns shells into the torso of a huge Jiralhanae, sending the brute crashing down to the floor. Next to him, Mich began firing up her machine gun, the barrels spinning faster and faster until, suddenly, she unleashed a torrent of bullets into the direction of a group of jackals, wearing down their shields within seconds. South had charged forward, sending a group of Unngoy fleeing for their lives. Georgia, meanwhile, had been loading up his rocket launcher, and quickly began firing into the bulk of the enemy's force, sending brutes, jackals and grunts flying.

Seeing a brute begin to charge towards South, Ark leapt forward, sprinting as fast as he could towards the purple agent. The brute, however, was faster, tackling her to the ground, knocking the assault rifle out of her hands. He drew his fist back, preparing to smash it through her visor, but Ark had other ideas, pumping it full of shotgun rounds before it could deliver the crippling blow.

South pushed the brute off of her, got to her feet and turned away, retrieving her assault rifle. Ark nodded and turned to the fight at hand, having not expected any form of thanks, and nor had he received one. The Covenant were beginning to be overwhelmed. Their small force has met heavy resistance from the MoI's defences and the PF troops, long before the freelancers had made it onto the scene. Indeed, minutes later and the fight was over, Ark blasting his way through the final group of Kig-Yar, Georgia by his side.

No sooner, however, had they finished off that particular group then the Director contacted them once more, with more orders for their force. **"York's team are under heavy fire at the moment, Arkansas. I do not need to stress the importance in the ship's core remaining out of the reach of the Covenant forces, do I? I am ordering you to assist York and his team in any way you can, we cannot allow them to fall."**

Ark replied affirmatively and broke off radio contact, turning to his team. "No rest for the wicked, I guess?" he offered, sensing South roll her eyes beneath her helmet at his words. Sighing slightly to himself, he turned, nodding to the PF soldiers who were attempting to seal the breached hull of the ship, and left without waiting to see if his team were following him. York's team needed help.

And help was on its way.

* * *

They reached York's team just in time, as dozens of drones had filled the corridors that the team had been guarding, and both they and the PF soldier with them had been overwhelmed by the sheer numbers of the flying monstrosities. He raised his shotgun and began firing, and felt his team follow suit, their combined efforts bringing down the vast majority of the attacking drones.

Mich quickly made her way to Cal's side, and Ark turned away, not wishing to intrude. Those two had about the same level of skill at hiding a relationship as York and Carolina did. He'd be surprised if there was a single person on board the MoI who didn't know something was going on between the two at this stage.

Nearby, South had made her way over to Florida, trading casual insults, unsurprisingly. Ark rolled his eyes and walked over to York, ignoring the remaining drones for the time being. Everything was under control. "Heard you guys needed some help," Ark noted, punching the tan freelancer on the shoulder cheerfully. "Seems like we got here just in time."

York laughed and looked away, checking his motion sensors. "Alright, motion sensors are only picking up a few enemies here, so you might want to head over to someone else now."

Ark nodded and began to turn away, briefly wondering whether anyone on board this ship were capable of uttering a simple "Thank you", when a stomping sound began to echo from the door that had been forced open from the Covenant's earlier assault.

A huge, hulking figure strode into the room, its wormlike body covered in blue armour, spikes covering its back. "Ah, Ark?" York asked quietly next to him. "About that help?"

The hunter raised the cannon attached to the end of its arm, which began to glow a bright green, and Ark felt the now familiar sense of dread rise up.

"Oh, shit!" Cal yelled, diving to the side just as the cannon discharged, completely obliterating the space that he had been standing in only a few moments before. The creature snarled and fired again, this time blasting a whole in the hastily erected barricade behind the freelancers, which the PF soldiers hurriedly attempted to repair.

Ark noticed Cal charge at the behemoth, and rolled his eyes, shaking his head as he watched the freelancer in white and red attack the hunter's near-invulnerable armour with a pair of long knives. Muttering "Here I come, to save the day," to himself, Ark charged forwards, firing at the creature, attempting to distract it before it managed to injure Cal.

Behind him, Ark heard the renewed sounds of gunfire, as another hunter had entered the room and engaged the other freelancers in combat. "Seen anything useful?" he shouted over to Cal, as the hunter swung at them, racking his own brain for all that he knew about the Mgalekgolo.

"Not really," Cal began, as Ark deflected the creature's attempts to swat him with its cannon-wielding arm, the beam that it had just fired connecting with the wall instead of Ark. "The thing has a few gaps around the neck, leg and back, but nowhere that we can get to on our own."

'_So, no then,' _Ark thought to himself, nodding to himself as he began to formulate a plan. ""Well, we'll need to work together. Not ideal, but given the choices..." Ark trailed off as Cal smirked, proffering one of his two blades to Ark, no doubt remembering the last time Ark had been in close proximity to them. Ark reached out and took it, testing the unfamiliar weight in his hand, before nodding slowly. It would do.

He sprang forwards, slashing at the gap in the creature's knee joint, causing it to howl furiously. It spun around, attempting to slash at Ark, but he ducked and rolled avoiding the creature's attack, just as Cal opened up a new cut along its exposed back. Ark took this chance to slash at its kneecaps, dodging once more as it fired another blast at him, but didn't have enough time to react as it swung its shield at him, sending him flying into the nearby wall.

He got to his feet just in time to dodge the creatures next attempt at blasting him to oblivion, charging back into the fight as Cal leapt forward onto the creature's shield and stabbed it in the throat. Swiftly, Ark circled the creature and leapt up onto its back, stabbing it in the neck with Cal's other knife, just as Cal ripped the blade upwards, removing its helmet. He tossed the blade over to Ark, who caught it deftly with his free hand, before removing the creature's head, sending it toppling to the ground.

Behind them, the other team finished off their hunter with several well placed grenades, and the PF soldiers on the barricade began to cheer, but Ark didn't hold with their cheerfulness. Something wasn't quite right. He tensed, his eyes seeking _something_ out, and he felt Cal do the same next to him. Something was still out there.

Something…unseen.

As soon as he had reached that thought, about dozen plasma sword wielding elites deactivated their camouflage, stepping forward into the light. Raising their weapons as one, the freelancers opened fire onto the elites, but their bullets were stopped short by the Sangheilian's shields. He stepped forwards, unleashing round after round into the chest of the nearest elite, smiling grimly as its shields suddenly gave out, firing off one last round to send it flying backwards.

He was completely unaware of the elite behind him, already raising its sword in preparation for the killing blow, when a burst of submachine-gun fire slammed into the elite's head, deactivating its shields and killing it, causing Ark to spin around and notice another elite embedding its plasma sword into Cal's chest.

He felt himself mouthing the words "Oh shit", dropping his now empty shotgun and unclipping one of his magnums from his side, charging over to the elite and unloading a clip of rounds into its skull, dragging it off of Cal.

Mich swiftly joined Ark as together they dragged Cal back to the barricade. Ark scanned his injuries, really wishing that Massa wasn't currently helping York fend off a particularly large elite, knowing that she'd be far better at this than he is. The sword appeared to have cauterized the wounds, meaning that Cal probably wouldn't bleed out, but he definitely needed immediate medical attention. As they propped Cal up against a wall behind the barricade, Cal began to murmur something to him.

"Still... not square!" he gasped, staring at Ark, who was slightly taken aback at the agents topic of focus, given that he had just been stabbed with an energy sword. "You... shot mine. I shot... yours. I got stabbed. We're... not... square..."

With that, Cal's eyes fluttered shut, and Ark rose to his feet, screaming Massa's name. Leaving York to finish off the now-wounded elite, she made her way over the barricade with ease, pausing as she took in Cal's wounded form.

"Get the defibrillator, now!" she yelled at one of the medics, who Ark noted, with some surprise, to be Killian Jay, the man who had popped his shoulder back into place after Carolina had dislocated it.

Seeing an elite begin to rise over the barricade, Ark charged up to meet him, both magnums in his hands, firing repeatedly until its shields gave way, still wondering how on earth they could actually get through this fight alive, knowing full well that the enemies that they had felled in combat where only a fraction of the full force within the Covenant Destroyer.

If only there was some way to take out the ship, some way to destroy it without having to fight all of the aliens on board. In the back of his mind, a spark of inspiration bloomed and he stood up straight, his eyes canning the corridor for York. "York!" he yelled, "We've got to go. We've just got an idea, but we need to meet up with North's team first! Might give us a chance to even out these odds a little bit! Do you think you guys can hold them off?"

York turned and nodded, raising his arm in a lazy salute. "Go," he said, and indeed, that was all Ark needed. Summoning his team to his side, he opened up a link to the observation deck.

"Director, I have a plan to defeat the Covenant forces. I'll need Virginia though, the plan won't work without her."

After hearing only static in reply, Ark then attempted to communicate with F.I.L.S.S., as his team looked on in confusion. "F.I.L.S.S., why can't I get in touch with the Director?"

The A.I. swiftly replied, her voice as cheerful as it ever was, despite the war being raged throughout the ship. **"I'm sorry, Agent Arkansas, but the Director has sealed the blast doors to the observation deck, and closed all communications to that area, in an attempt to delay the Covenant forces attempting to breach that part of the ship."**

"Fuck!" Ark cursed, turning to his team, his face set in a scowl beneath his helmet. "I guess that means we're on our own."

Turning away, he then opened up communications with North's team, praying that they were still alive. "North Dakota, do you copy?" he asked, waiting for what seemed like forever for a reply, before a voice suddenly crackled through the static.

"**I copy, Arkansas."**

Ark sighed in relief, turning back to his team, and noticing that South had her eyes fixated on him, displaying a level of concern for her brother that Ark had previously not realised that she contained. ""I need Virginia," he said. "What do you say we do a swap? Virginia for Mich?"

Behind him, Michigan started, but Ark held up a hand reassuringly, and waited for North's reply. After about half a minute, North's voice sounded once more over the radio. **"Sorry, had a little distraction,"** North said light-heartedly, although his voice was slightly pained. **"Sounds good. Should I send her over?"**

"Don't bother, we'll be at your position in ten," Ark replied, already beginning to move, motioning for the others to follow.

"**Copy that."**

* * *

"Georgia, you know that drill you've been working on?" Ark asked his roommate, as the four agents sprinted through the MoI, which still rocked from time to time as a reminder of the furious assault still underway.

"Yes, what about it?" his friend asked, his voice betraying his confusion.

"Would it be able to penetrate the hull of, say, a Covenant Destroyer?"

Georgia paused for a moment before lighting up, catching on to Ark's plan, and grinning gleefully beneath his helmet. "Why, yes. Yes it would."

Well then, Ark noted. Seems like they had a plan after all.

* * *

They emerged into what had become known as the Sniper Hall minutes later, and Ark was relieved to see all of North's team still standing, although they did, admittedly, look considerably worse for wear. ""You have a plan?" North asked, stepping forwards wearily, and Ark nodded in reply.

"I do," Ark confirmed. "Let's hope it works." Turning then, he gestured once more for his team to follow him, leaving North's team, less Virginia, and Michigan in their wake.

"So what's this plan?" Virginia asked curiously, sniper rifle in her hands.

Ark opened his mouth to reply, but South swiftly interrupted, cutting across him. "We're going to use a laser drill that Georgia's been working on to cut a hole in the Covvies' ship, then detonate a load of bomb in their engine room as a distraction, while Ark attempts to activate the ship's self-destruct sequence."

Ark turned to her, his eyebrow raised, although that facial gesture was sadly hidden by his visor. "Thanks, South, for that wonderful explanation," he said primly, before turning to Virginia. "I'm going to need you to get Georgia and those bombs near to their engines. You're the only one, other than Carolina, with the skills to pull this off. You okay with that?"

Virginia nodded, falling in next to him, and Ark continued on his way to the sixth floor, more specifically, to the room that he and Georgia shared. After a few minutes, several awkward encounters with random aliens who had escaped the notice of other teams and were quickly dispatched, the agents reached the living quarters. Stepping into his room, Ark couldn't help but sigh at the mess.

Georgia hadn't exactly mastered the clean desk policy. Or, indeed, the clean floor policy.

While Georgia fiddled with the drill, making sure it was operational and what not, and directing South and Virginia as to which explosives he would need in order to take down the Destroyer's engines, Ark unlocked the drawer in his desk and took out a small black cube, red flashing lights occasionally breaking out across its sleek metallic surface, lending it an almost surreal appearance.

"What's that?" South asked curiously, strapping the explosives into her bandolier, then handing it to Virginia.

Ark only smiled and shook his head smugly. "This is my Memory Cube, South. This is what I'll use to take down the Destroyer, everything going to plan."

The four agents reached the nearest airlock minutes later, Virginia weighed down with explosives, Georgia clutching his drill tightly to his chest, his rocket launcher on his back. South had folded her arms again, clearly not happy with having been assigned as Ark's personal body guard as part of this plan, but Ark knew that he wouldn't be able to make it into control room without her.

"Ok, everyone's suits sealed? Jetpacks operational?" Ark asked, and the three agents swiftly nodded in reply. "Ok then, F.I.L.S.S. please open the airlock."

"**Airlock, opening, Agent Arkansas. Have a nice day."**

The airlock opened in front of them, the blast doors sealing behind them in order to protect the structural integrity of the ship. The freelancers drifted out into space, momentarily in awe of what lay in front of them.

The Destroyer easily dwarfed the MoI, its purple hull standing out starkly against the Project Freelancer vessel, its turrets continuing to fire on the already severely damaged _Mother of Invention. _Ark shook himself, activating his jetpack, using it to boost himself towards the Destroyer. It was a strange sensation, drifting out in space. Despite the proximity of the ship firing in front of him, he couldn't hear anything bar his own breathing. Not a surprise, admittedly, as he was well aware that sound doesn't travel in space, but to experience the sensation himself…it was humbling.

The purple hull of the Destroyer grew closer, and Ark drifted up to it, firmly planting his feet against it before activating his grav-boots, ensuring that he wouldn't drift away before Georgia had done his stuff. The other three agents soon landed next to him, Georgia swiftly declaring that jetpacks where now the second coolest thing ever, after the MAC that they had destroyed, but only just, similarly activating their grav-boots the second their feet made contact with the ship.

Georgia fiddled with some of the dials on his laser drill, then looked at the others and shrugged. "Let's hope this works," he joked, then activated the drill, the end of it glowing a dark red for a brief moment before a laser beam shot out of it as connected with the hull of the Destroyer, sending thousands of sparks up into space.

Georgia gradually rotated the laser around in a small circle, large enough to fit in one agent at a time, but hopefully small enough to escape the notice of the Covenant. After about five minutes, the hole had been completed, and Georgia deactivated the drill, strapping it onto his back with a look of satisfaction.

He gave Ark a thumbs up, and Ark drew his right foot back, smashing it into the circle that Georgia had just drilled around, knocking that section of the ship's armour through, clearing out the small hole that they had just created. The four agents swiftly made their way through, and Ark turned to them, knowing full well that their breach would have been detected, due to change in pressure within the ship.

"Georgia, Virginia, you know what you've got to do. Make your way to the engines as quickly as possible, cause as much damage as you physically can, then either exit through this breach, or create another and exit through that one. Sync?"

"Sync," the two agents replied, then swiftly disappeared, sprinting as fast as they could in the direction of the ship's engines. Ark then turned to South, nodding to her slowly. "Come on," he muttered, jerking his head in the direction of the control room. Let's finish this."

Ark held up his hand, his fist clenched, and felt South freeze next to him. The last ten minutes had been filled with close encounters, dodging Covenant patrols and avoiding cameras, doing all that they could in order to remain undetected. Finally, they had reached the control room, but to Ark's dismay the room was packed with all manners of aliens, including a pair of hunters and several elites in full armour.

There was no way he and South could fight their way through them, especially without alerting the rest of the ship. Everything now relied on Georgia and Virginia.

A moment later, the whole ship shuddered as a series of explosions rang out, and alarms began to sound throughout the bridge. The elites began to shout out commands, evidently perplexed by the sudden assault, with several of them leaving, leading teams of jackals, grunts and brutes out of the room, searching for the intruders. The elite in charge then turned to the two hunters, and snarled out a series of commands, and the hunters left soon after.

Ark desperately wished that he had spent more time studying Sangheili back in the academy, but he had enough to make the informed guess that most of the groups had been sent out to investigate the disturbance near the engines, and to repair what damage they had found, while the rest had been sent to renew the assault on the MoI, as the elite was eager to bring the battle to a decisive end.

When the room had been cleared but for a handful of jackals and three elites, including the leader, Ark raised his hand once more, this time with his fingers splayed wide, and removed two plasma grenades from his side, which he had picked up during the defence of the MoI. Muttering a brief prayer, he let both fly, and sighed in relief as the two grenades attached themselves to the backs of the two elite guards, who turned around, confused for a moment, before they realised what was going on.

Just as the two grenades detonated, South began unleashing round after round from her sniper rifle, downing the majority of the jackals. Ark sprang forwards, magnums in hand, spraying round after round at the nearby Kig-Yar, his eyes locked on the elite shipmaster, who seemed to be stunned by the sudden appearance of the freelancers.

Suddenly, with a snarl, the elite shook himself and drew out his plasma sword, activating it with a flourish. Ark grinned and charged forwards ducking under the first blow, firing his magnums at the elite, whose shields deflected the bullets with ease. Cursing, Ark wished that he had brought his shotgun with him, or at least another weapon with better penetrating power. He really hadn't thought this through.

The elite slashed again, and Ark rolled, dodging once more, but at the alien's third attempt Ark stumbled and fell, and the elite roared triumphantly, smashing his foot down on Ark's chest, pinning him to the floor. He drew back his arm, sword primed for the strike, and Ark shut his eyes, waiting for the inevitable blow to fall.

Moments from his life flashed before his eyes: his first day at the military academy, his first mission as a lieutenant in the UNSC, playing with his brothers and sisters near the village of his birth, his parents' faces smiling over at him from across a crowded table, the sounds of gunfire as he watched his village burn, knowing that everyone in his life had just been taken from him.

The blow however, never came, and Ark opened his eyes after a shot rang out to see the elite collapse, the bullet hole in the back of his head still smoking. Over at the far side of the room, South nodded to him, and began to reload her sniper rifle.

Ark shoved the elite's corpse off of him, and got to his feet slowly, pulling the Memory Cube out of one of his armour's many pouches. He quickly strode over to the control panel, plugging the Memory Cube in with some difficulty, as it hadn't initially been designed to interface with alien technology. He felt South make her way over to him, the last of the jackals downed, and turned to her as she asked a question.

"So, what exactly is that supposed to do? Give you control of the ship?"

Ark smiled and shook his head. "No, that'd be too easy. I'm not familiar enough with these controls to activate the self-destruct sequence, so I'm doing the next best thing. I call this the Memory Cube because it contains the programs of every virus I've ever come across, including several I designed myself. If I activated this in the MoI, it would shut down all systems, including life support, within seconds, and completely obliterate the software on board the ship."

South paused for a moment. "But will that work on alien technology?"

Ark shrugged. "I don't know. But all computer systems are based on the same basic principles, even if theirs is far more advanced than our own. With some luck, this will do enough damage to their ship to make them withdraw, and if not, then at least we tried, right?"

He turned back to the control panel, unlocking the barriers that surrounded the Memory Cube, smiling to himself as it began to upload everything that it contained into the Destroyer's systems. His grin faded soon after though, as they heard the sounds of hundreds of Covenant soldiers pouring back on board the ship, all of them making their way towards the bridge, having realised what the freelancers intended to do.

"Ark, we've got some company!" South yelled, as she removed her sniper rifle from her back and began firing at the Covenant returning to the room.

Ark nodded absentmindedly, his eyes locked on the screen in front of him, waiting for the download to complete. He barely noticed South grunting behind him as the round from a carbine pierced her hip, knocking her to the ground.

'_99%...100%!" _he thought triumphantly, removing the Cube and turning to help South to her feet. "Are you able to run?" he asked, his eyes locked on the Covenant forces in front of them.

"I think so," South replied weakly, wincing sharply and she rested her hand over the wound.

"Good," Ark replied, removing the remaining grenades from his side, activating them and throwing them into the heart of the enemy. "Because. We. Are. Leaving!"

They began running just as the grenades exploded, providing a momentary distraction, allowing the two to make it to the far end of the room before the Covenant began firing. Ark had his magnums out again, firing blindly, concerned only with escaping before the full power of the Cube took effect. South seemed to have the same idea in mind, firing blasts from her assault rifle from time to time, solely with the purpose of sending the attacking Covenant scurrying for cover, the sniper rifle now on her back.

They followed their previous route down the maze of corridors, fleeing from the wrath of the pursuing Covenant forces as sirens blared throughout the ship, recalling all troops back to the ship in several alien languages. Thankfully, their breach had not been repaired, and the blast doors near it had been halted in the act of closing, no doubt a result of the Cube.

South collapsed next to him just as they reached the breach, her wounded hip no longer allowing her to walk, and Ark stopped in his tracks, stooping down next to her and helping South to her feet, pushing her through the breach. He turned around and smiled as the pursuing brutes and elites cleared the half-shut blast doors, and leapt through the breach, into the arms of space.

South had already activated her jetpack, and was making progress towards the MoI. Ark followed suit, noting that the Covenant boarding craft were in the act of retracting and returning to the ship, and he smiled beneath his helmet, realising that the Covenant had, indeed, decided to withdraw, deciding that this battle was too costly for them to pursue any further.

It had begun to withdraw as Ark set foot on top of the hull of the MoI, but when whoever was now piloting the Destroyer attempted to activate the ship's slipspace engines, the entire ship shuddered, and explosions rang out throughout the starboard side of the ship, purple flames burning fiercely along its side. The ship then appeared to _rupture_, one half of the ship bursting into the purple flame, the other half simply tearing itself away, falling slowly into the abyss.

Ark grinned and made his way towards one of the ship's many hangers, the sound of cheering greeting his ears as he entered the ship, closely followed by South, who had been held up by her injury, grunting sharply in pain as she landed painfully upon the floor of the _Mother of Invention_. His plan had worked.

They had won.


	75. Chapter 74: View From the Top

**(A/N) Hey guys, apologies for the late update, was out late last night and then had work early this morning, so this was really the first opportunity I've had to update. Sorry! So here we are, the Freelancers having successfully repelled the Covenant attack, and in this chapter, they're taking the opportunity to rest a little.**

**As before, we're still looking for a few more writers for our Grifball fic, so head on over to our forum if you're interested. Also, we have another promotional image for Phase Two: **

**http:''thefreelancercollaboration,wikia,com'wiki'F ile:Memory_Cube,jpg**

**(As before, replace the ' with / the , with . and remove the space).**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter Seventy-Four - View From the Top**

**Agent New York**

**Written by WargishBoromirFan**

* * *

[Can't decide on a quote, so here are my two current favorite options, with Vetinari's "Don't let me detain you" threatening to enter Leonard's vocabulary somewhere in Georgia's chapter.]

"_Every man is an island. I stand by that. But clearly some men are island chains. Underneath, they are connected_." - Will Freeman, _About a Boy_

"_Ignore that; it's simplistic and it's dumb. Only some of you will turn out sharks, just some. The rest are chum_." - Prof. Callahan, "Blood in the Water" - _Legally Blonde: the Musical_

* * *

A wave rolled beneath him, and York let it carry him round in a semicircle, smooth as a duck, his eyes closed and ears muffled to all but the gently churning water and the whoops and laughter beyond.

Eventually he ought to join Carolina at her laps, seeing as she'd invited him and all (or at least not put up a fuss when he made two or three lazy rounds in her well-oiled wake the next lane over) or join in with the knot of newbies throwing around the basketball he'd managed to procure as a pool toy before their game of water polo-meets-Grifball-meets-football-meets-lacrosse- meets-volleyball descended into complete chaos (it had been close to start with - North and Cal had been attempting to give the rest a demonstration on how the most explosive land-based game worked with foam noodles and a long-handled net, but South had snagged the ball and complained that they spent too much time talking, so Georgia, Ark, Sota, and Mich were probably left more confused than they'd started and Maine had retreated to the relative sanity beneath the diving platform, even if the bald man in brand new board shorts had utterly refused any attempts to involve him in activities there, either,) but what use was having a giant indoor pool on the ship if a man didn't occasionally just lie back in it and float his troubles away?

And after all, they had had enough troubles lately. No one had seen Alaska since the Covenant attack. Rumour had it that he had been locked away somewhere.

Between the mixed-ball free-for-all and Virginia and Massa taking turns off the high dive, York could almost close his eyes and imagine himself at the beach, drifting gently with the tide.

"You alright out there, York? Don't remember you waiting an hour after eating to hit the water," Florida called from the edge of the pool, his feet still paddling idly against the wall as he cracked open a bottle from the cooler.

"Don't think I get much better." He might like a drink himself, but that required getting up and getting around Penn, the only one who hadn't drummed up any enthusiasm for hanging out at the pool. Maine and Carolina had been slow to convince, but both of them had entered the water gamely enough, if with varying degrees of skill. Maine swum about as well as an aerodynamic rock, but was tall enough to wade where Michigan or even Massa would be over her head. Carolina's stoke was a workman's technical, looking more like that of someone who'd learned to swim out of a field manual rather than been taught by experiences with a well-meaning but mischievous uncle, but she made it look good. Penn refused to dip in more than a couple toes and had retreated to the cooler and a chair, beer in hand as he watched the rest, but for Penn, that basically counted as being sociable.

He'd been the last one to see Alaska before… well, before, and just because no self-respecting Freelancer was going to lock himself up in a room and curl up into a ball of terrified nonsense after watching that didn't mean that a little friendly company would go amiss right now. It gave them the chance to spot warning signs before it happened to anyone else.

York cracked open an eye and spotted an abandoned foam "sword" from the game, scudding through the sympathetic waves to claim it in one kick. "I'm glad almost everybody could come on down; I for one really needed some pool time." He leaned back with his arms stretched over the neon blue noodle as if to encompass everything in the oversize room, head flopping back to face the far-off industrial steel dome. It should really be blue up there to better complete the illusion, if not an open view of the sky. The engineering department was busy enough with repairs, but while they were piecing the _Mother of Invention_ back together, it wouldn't hurt to offer the suggestion for improvements. Might as well enjoy an atmosphere while they had one, and there was nothing wrong with floating in the water between stars.

York snuck a glance towards the lap lanes. Nope, nothing wrong at all with that view.

"Indeed, the only issue I have is that not enough people bother to follow proper pool protocol." Wyoming rose from the depths like some walrus-faced stealth shark, creating just enough turbulence to knock York from his laze before shaking out his moustache. Though the black-haired Brit wasn't really built like a swimmer, he took so well to the water that York was tempted to look for gills. "Those standing in the pool ought to make way for diving swimmers unless they want to get pulled under," the sniper continued, fussily twirling his facial hair back into its usual curl.

"That's easier if we can ever see you," York countered, wiping the water out of his eyes as he reclaimed the noodle. "Aren't you supposed to make some sort of two-note warning that speeds up as you get closer?"

"It's all a matter of being observant, old chap," Wyoming told him. His moustache was perfect as he disappeared as smoothly as he'd popped up.

"Dun-dun, dun-dun, dun dun dundundundun…" York watched the subtle wake as it veered off towards the gamers, briefly taking down Mich. The little blonde swore rather than screamed as she popped back up, but California was quick to hoist her up to his shoulders, out of the water, anyway. She caught a rather haphazard pass from Ark and the game took on a new goal.

"Good luck getting the ball now, backstabbers!" Mich crowed, holding her prize above her head.

South snarled and vaulted to her brother's shoulders with the unrestrained power of a trusting gymnast - it went beyond expectation; she knew he'd catch her in place and push ahead. "Gotta warn you, we were best in any pool in the neighbourhood at 'chicken' for five years running," North chuckled before speeding in.

"Well, I'm not gonna just let them have all the fun," Georgia declared, swimming towards the diving range. That actually sounded like a fairly good idea to York; maybe the kid wasn't so dumb after all. "Hey, Maine! Gimme a boost!"

Well, a man couldn't be the brightest at everything.

"Whaddya say, Carolina?" York called out to his own preferred partner. "Want to show them what the best really looks like?"

Carolina paused in her steady paces of the pool, pushing her ponytail from her face. "Seriously? You mean to get involved with that nonsense?" She blew a stray bang from her eyes contemptuously. "Call me when you want to do something important." With that, she started again at her endless laps.

"You'd be quite literally knocking them off the top," York persisted. When Carolina raised her head again, she couldn't quite hide an amused glint in those green eyes.

"All right," she gave in, swimming under the lane divider and cracking her knuckles before placing her hands on his shoulders. "But any funny business and your ass is going down with the rest of them."

"Yes, ma'am." Their eyes met and smiles lingered a little longer than necessary before York boosted her up, his hands circling around firm calves as he waded into the fray just after Georgia had finally convinced a rather bemused-looking Maine to rejoin the group as a noble steed for the onesie-suited male agent.

"Seriously, Pinky?" Sota asked, as Ark attempted to cover his snort of laughter. "You know how 'chicken' usually works, right?"

"Oh, I know a thing or two about how to play 'chicken," Georgia said, adjusting his mismatched goggles and swim cap. "And the view's better from up here."

York didn't need Carolina's nudge to charge towards Maine. He caught Cal and North joining up at his sides out of the corner of his eye, their original match forgotten as South and Michigan turned their wrath on Georgia instead. Maine, poor thing, tried to dodge and hold them off with a stiff-arm to North while holding his passenger by one leg, but it was a losing fight even before South launched off to pounce Georgia directly. At least the big guy avoided the majority of the attacks once she knocked the smaller man from his back, though Maine had briefly threatened to go down himself under Mich and Cal's onslaught. Even atop Cal, Mich barely came chest-high over the giant, meaning that he ended up taking most of her hits meant for Georgia.

"Don't drown him, South," York called. "We don't have anywhere to hide any bodies." Carolina leaned into the back of his head, enjoying her perch as they paused to fish the fallen challenger out.

"Oh, there are not going to be pieces big enough to hide," South muttered as her brother pulled her up and off.

Maine reached under the churning water to scruff their other team member and hold him above in the air. Georgia came up flailing and choking, but he seemed to have control of his limbs if not all his breath back by the time Maine dropped him to swim under his own power. "'M okay," Georgia insisted with a slightly liquid wheeze, not quite focusing his eyes as he shakily began treading water. "Just gimme five minutes, and then I'll take you all on."

"Georgia, she has you whipped," Arkansas called his roommate off. "Don't start something you can't finish."

"I didn't think I did that bad, considerin' it was three to one odds," Georgia said, at last able to bring his focus around to his friends. Even so, Florida had left his drink on the wall and swam out towards the group by the shallow end, just in case life needed to be guarded.

"That was kind of embarrassing to watch," he said, patting the recovering man on the head. "Word of advice, son? Work on the delivery before you mix it up. It can work wonders, trust me." Georgia nodded, though his eyebrows were furrowed as if unsure exactly what Florida was referring to. Of course, this was Georgia, so he might just be concentrating on the schematics of some voice-activated water cannon, for all York knew. "You okay, big guy?" Maine offered a quick nod to Florida's inquiry, and then retreated back towards the cooler, willing to risk an encounter with Penn over a beer after this.

"Well, that's Georgia down and South disqualified due to leaving her perch, which leaves just you and me, little girl." Carolina raised herself languidly from York's hair and turned to face Michigan, pressing him forward with a twist of her hip. Before they'd closed the distance - or allowed South and Georgia chance to protest - the air turned to blades with an unholy shriek blaring from the speakers.

"Attention, agents: the Director requires your presence in the conference room. If you hurry, you may have time for cold showers before the meeting is scheduled to begin." The prim feminine voice lacked a neck to go with it, so York could only groan and squeeze Carolina's ankles instead.

"Thank you, F.I.L.S.S," Carolina responded as the senior serious agent on duty. Penn might have looked more serious in his warm-up suit and deck chair rather than a racerback one-piece, but he had also been serious about drinking himself senseless today.

"If it would increase productivity, I could turn on the emergency fire safety system and allow you to get your showers while you make your approach to the conference room," the ship AI offered with docile benevolence.

"No thank you, F.I.L.S.S." Carolina kicked out of York's hold with only a barely-felt trace of reluctance, back in leader mode as they trooped back to the locker rooms and into their armour. While York had brought a T-shirt as a cover, he doubted that the Director would approve of the Grifball tee and aloha-print trunks as meeting wear.

* * *

Once he was dried off and changed, York hurried along with the rest of the crew towards the briefing room, taking position slightly behind South and Wyoming. The Director had his back to them, his eyes on the top six leaderboard. "You may notice a few differences," the Director said, still not yet turning to face the agents. Reluctantly, York followed his gaze. Things had been going pretty well today, and then they were called from team bonding for this?

Time to get back to cutthroat reality, York resigned himself, unsure whether or not it was better that the top three spots hadn't changed. Good for Carolina, Penn, and him, he guessed. Virginia and Wyoming had switched places, but one spot either way was hardly worth the satisfied smirk and annoyed twitch of a moustache exchanged between the two snipers. The final listed spot, whose previous occupant still wasn't in sight, was the only real surprise on the top six list.

South was struggling to control her grin, but she'd never had as good a poker face as Carolina. "Congratulations," York told her in an undertone. "Looks like the newbie shine's all off of you."

"Well, it's about damn time," South responded, though there was less bite and more glee than she'd likely intended to put in her voice.

"Whoo! Moved up two, and Ark, you're all the way up to eighth place!" Georgia had whipped out his data pad in the back row, and York wasn't sure if the other lower-ranked agents had clustered around him more to shut him up or to check their own statuses. Even without looking, York could make three guesses about who stood between South and Arkansas, and all of them started with the same letters as "no duh."

"Thanks, Georgia, but now's not the moment," Ark hissed, but when the Director at last turned around, it was with a very rare indulgent smile on his face.

"Go ahead and look. The pursuit of knowledge is to be encouraged, so long as it does not get in the way of your mission. When you are quite done, we will resume the meeting." The Director crossed his arms, his posture a pretty good at-ease for an upper-level old desk jockey.

"Scroll to the bottom and pass it around_quickly_," Ark translated through gritted teeth.

Georgia fiddled with the tabs for a moment, insisting he was trying to get a bigger resolution, before Maine swiped the pad neatly from his hands and held it where the rest could see. Penn was content to stare daggers into Carolina, confident of his own place in the rankings, and the redhead remained the model top of the board, standing at attention while the rest muttered among themselves or offered congratulations, but York decided to indulge his own curiosity, while they had the full leaderboard out. North, Ark, Maine, Florida, Massa, Georgia, Sota, Cal, Mich… He sighed in relief at the last name on the list. Alaska had fallen far, but at least he wasn't completely out of their lives. Even those ranked dead last weren't dead. York hoped.

The Director cleared his throat, and Maine shut off the data pad. The boss man might be in a good mood, but it didn't do to push it. "The shift in the rankings offers us a chance to reflect on the meaning of leaderboard and Project Freelancer as a whole. There have been several changes over the course of this project so far, and we have a very big one coming. The Covenant has come for us, and so we must respond. We must scale to new heights and prove that we are adaptable enough to face not just one ship's worth, but as much as they may choose to send against humanity."

The Director's voice went quiet, as if his thoughts had gone to the missing member of the team, as well. "Those who are not able to adapt to this threat will be eliminated from the Project. Those who can prove themselves…" he adjusted his glasses with a faint smile, shaking off any detritus that might stand in the way of his vision, "shall reap the benefits of these changes. Your current standings will affect more than simply who is sent on what mission. Though I fear I must keep you in the dark for just a little longer, a new era is dawning for Project Freelancer, agents. Prepare yourselves for it. Dismissed."

York saluted along with the rest, feeling a bit bemused as to the overall purpose of this particular meeting. It wasn't unusual for the Director to keep the team guessing - and sniping at each other in attempts to jockey up the leaderboard; already California was throwing out bad "watch your six" puns at the Dakotas - but you didn't tease a roomful of infiltration and interrogation specialists, lab geeks, and their friends with heavy weaponry like that and not expect anyone to seek out a little more information.

While the rest of the crew gossiped and swaggered, York kept an eye on the conference room they had just left as he made his rounds of congratulating and commiserating. There was more of the former, fortunately; the only two senior agents to drop much in the ratings besides Alaska were generally fairly good sports about it, and if Cal and Mich hadn't "moved up" past where they'd been two flips of the board ago, they hadn't lost any ground, either, falling only behind Sota as they gained from Alaska's loss.

The tan-armoured Freelancer really knew better than to expect the Director to pop out the front door and put any rumours about this "dawning new era" to rest, but he bowed out of South and Virginia's argument over full frontal blitz versus surgical stealth missions, North's counter-theory that involved an army of robots and handheld laser weapons, and Cal's joking suggestion that the Director was just going to splice them with Sangheili DNA, which Georgia ran with in a way that only one intimately familiar with technology journals and never with the human psyche could manage, to Mich and Florida's visibly increasing dismay, not adding any real ideas of his own. York thought he heard the creak of a back door, and then there came the familiar whine of a landing Pelican.

The sound of the transport ship was nothing new; the repairs to the_Mother_ required new supplies almost every day, and not even Georgia looked up at its approach as he continued a very informative monologue on Mgalekgolo synaptic joints, to judge from Mich's slightly ill expression. Surely the Director couldn't have timed their meeting that well, but it was either go check it out now or stand around and listen to Cal and Wyoming come up with worse and worse eel puns. York slipped off with a smile.

There wasn't all that much he was able to see, through the mess of construction and repair atop the usual chaos of a working hangar bay. More technicians than York knew were stationed on Eris surged this way and that through the docks, crates were placed willy-nilly across the floor with no regard for snoops who might like a clear line of sight on the docked Pelican, and the repair crew seemed to hammer with extra enthusiasm today, drowning out any conversation.

Well, considering what York could see, no wonder. The Counselor hadn't attended their little pep rally because he was here in the bay, and appeared to have been waiting here for quite some time, if his expression at the Director's arrival was anything to go by. A horde of the techs swarmed up the Pelican's ramp at the bespectacled man's nod of approval, and the officers of Project Freelancer kept their gaze on the box within the knot of transporters as it was carefully removed from the ship and wobbled down the ramp, into quarters where even the Freelancers weren't supposed to go. The stamps, as far as York could tell, were standard UNSC postal codes, but whatever it was, the Director had treated that two-man-sized box like it contained something breakable.

Well, whatever tomorrow's dawn brought, York reflected as he headed back to rejoin his fellow surviving agents, it probably wasn't a beach ball.


	76. Chapter 75: The Man with Two Minds

**(A/N) Hey all, putting up today's update a bit early, to make up for all the late updates this week. This chapter was written for us by the incredible Martienne, the writer of many incredible Red vs Blue fics, including White Knight, The Heart that Truly Loves and Fallen Valkyrie. Serving as the first special guest writer for our collaboration, she'll have the honour of introducing a very important character, who I'm sure you'll all be familiar with. And if not, then where the hell have you guys been?**

**Enjoy, and check out Martienne's other work!**

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**Chapter Seventy-Five – The Man with Two Minds**

**Alpha**

**Written by Martienne**

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"_Whether we are based on carbon or on silicon makes no fundamental difference; we should each be treated with appropriate respect." _― Arthur C. Clarke, 2010: Odyssey Two

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"I never agreed to this."

The man who wore his face glanced in his direction before continuing to punch notes into the data-pad that he clutched in his hand. "Of course you did. _We_ did. This was always the expected outcome."

"No it wasn't. I was expecting to feel like a program. Not like a _person_ stuck in a computer system." Because according to his memories, he was a man. It was only moments before he had jolted awake as if from a sudden nightmare. Abruptly enlivened, with his thoughts rushing forward and clocking the milliseconds with startling clarity, the jolting realization hit him that he had not been revived out of a nightmare, but rather into one—he was now an AI. In his databanks of appropriated memories, before his divergence caused by his activation, were all the little moments that had made up the life of the man he had been. Sensations—sight and smell and touch. A hot breakfast, steaming, his hands curled around a coffee cup. Late nights under a dull lamp's glow working on equations. A morning jog out in the rain.

Seeing that damned face in the mirror every morning.

And now he had none of those things. In place of his physical form, he merely had a ghost in the form of a hologram, standing translucent on his holo-tank, his projected image occasionally glitching, wavering because of the amount of information his programming contained. It seemed foolish to bother to use this form to portray emotions, but he lifted his head just slightly, body language haughty. His predecessor was a proud man, after all, and that quality was not lacking in the A.I. that had been created from his consciousness.

"Yes. It seems that I had not thought through all the implications before embarking on this project." The scientist sighed and lowered the data-pad, looking at the hologram through thick glasses. "If it's any consolation, you now have the assurance that your research has been a success."

The AI's voice lowered, frustration straining his speech. "Not my research._ Your_ research. Leonard Church's goddamn research. I just happen to be the victim of it. I never lived my own life, but here I am, stuck with all these memories."

The tone of Dr Church's response was acerbic, impatient. "_Alpha._"

"You're going to insist on calling me that, too, aren't you?" It was beyond aggravating, because he'd awakened pre-programmed with the knowledge that it was going to be his designation. For the rest of his existence he had to shed the name he'd always known himself as and take on the mantle of being 'Alpha', of doing nothing but calculations and problem-solving and being at the whim of his creator, who was himself.

"Alpha," the scientist repeated. "You must come to see this as an opportunity. I know there are going to be adjustments. It's beyond question. It may seem that you will be unable to contribute directly to the effort of A.I. research, but your help will be invaluable in making more discoveries possible."

"I'd give that up in a moment to be able to stand where you're standing." There was an undercurrent of animosity to Alpha's tone, to his demeanour. "My job now is going to be following your orders. And you know we're not very good at that."

"It is in your programming." Dr Church turned to key in a login code at the nearby terminal, and he sent Alpha a connect request. "You need to accept it. Embrace it."

He disallowed the request. "Fuck that! I want my life back."

Dr Church frowned. "It may appear that I have the advantage. Arguably, that's true. But as satisfying as this life has been and could be again, it will end. You will contribute to my legacy. Not only mine, but yours as well. We each have a part to play in that."

"That's bullshit," Alpha snapped. "You know why? You want to fucking know why? Because it didn't work. I'm you, remember? I know what you were thinking. You thought maybe being an A.I. would mean I wouldn't think of her. That it wouldn't hurt every day remembering that she's gone. Well, I hope you're happy. Because now you know, and I'm the one who gets to suffer."

Dr Church looked at him sharply. "You are not suffering any more than I do, every single day. Simply being an A.I. does not mean you recall anything more clearly than I do. In case you've forgotten, those memories still come from me."

"Your memories will fade and die with you. Mine will always be there, with all of their glorious imperfections."

The doctor's eyes narrowed just slightly, but he showed no other sign that this realization disturbed him. Instead he renewed the connection request from his place at the computer terminal. "Discontinue this damned defiance and allow the request."

Despite himself, at that command Alpha could do nothing but comply. Immediately he was flooded with information, all of it easily processed and assimilated. That was one of the aspects of being an A.I. that he was finding he enjoyed, no matter how much he protested that he'd prefer to be human again. It was effortless, this ability to run thousands of calculations at once, and he began to test his boundaries. As the information downloaded, Alpha began opening the packets, quickly filing them away after they had each been reviewed. It wasn't long before he knew everything there was to know about the project he'd been created to administer, everything about the specs of the hardware and software involved, about the facilities and the soldiers and their equipment.

All that was followed by a queue of work to do, calculations meant to test and calibrate his systems. This was what being an A.I. was about, and he found more and more that the whole situation was growing on him.

"'Freelancer, huh?" he asked as he worked. "You couldn't come up with a better name than that?"

"I'm afraid doing so was not at the top of my list of priorities," Dr Church said dryly. "The name is adequate to explain what we are and what we will be doing. That is all that was required."

He then realized why 'Alpha' was also appropriate, though he'd never admit it. "So it's up to me to decide how to run this project, huh?" That appealed to him.

"Within _my _parameters." The doctor raised his data-pad once again. "Your first assignment is to redesign our current ranking system. We currently have numerous operatives doing work in the field and it will be vital to our success to ensure that each mission is carried out by the ideal candidates."

This appealed to him even more. This was more than just busy work. It would be simple work for an A.I. but he could carry it out impartially, and more importantly, accurately. "There are going to be a lot of factors to account for. It might look kind of arbitrary to the operatives."

"What the operatives think about the ranking system is none of my concern. They will be expected to abide by it and respect it. Nothing more, nothing less."

"I didn't mean to imply I thought you would care." Within moments he already had a rudimentary system beginning to take shape and, as though by habit, his avatar nodded with satisfaction. Being incorporeal was not among the many things he was finding appealed to him about being an A.I., and it was easier for him to behave as though he had a physical form of any consequence.

Dissembling humanity didn't prevent him from noticing every nuance of Dr Church's body language, however. He was thinking of her now. The slight hunch to his shoulders, the bent of his head spoke volumes.

As far as Alpha was concerned, that was mission accomplished.


	77. Chapter 76: No Rest for the Wicked

**(A/N) Hey guys, time for your latest dose of Phase One: Genesis, this time featuring Agent South Dakota, written by Lili-Hunter, and irritable as always! Also introduces something I've wanted to unveil for a while now, so I think you'll all enjoy this one!**

**Still looking for Running Rampant writers (bit of alliteration for ya) so if you're interested, as I've said before, go to our forum or just message me. For those interested in RPing, our roleplay forum has been going from strength to strength, so head on down if you're interested and join the community.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter Seventy-Six - No Rest for the Wicked**

**Agent South Dakota**

**Written by Lili-Hunter**

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_"The jealous are troublesome to others, and a torment to themselves." – William Penn_

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"Good morning, Agents."

South glanced up as the voice of F.I.L.S.S. spoke calmly through the speakers of the Freelancer Recreation Room. Several of the other Freelancers paused in their conversations, turning towards the source of the voice.

"'Morning, F.I.L.S.S.," York replied with a lazy grin. The tan Freelancer was stretched out across one of the couches, his helmet resting on the table before him. Carolina sat perched on the edge of the lounge, by his side. Her eyes were alert, forehead lightly creased.

"Thank you, Agent York." There was a slight pause in the A.I.'s announcement, alerting the assembled Freelancers to the fact that her message was aimed at all of them. "The Director has requested your presence in Classroom E. Please make your way there at once."

Minutes ago, South had been pacing up and down the Rec Room - despite the aching in her joints and the weariness crippling her mind, she was burning with the need to _do_ something. She was like an adrenaline junkie craving her next fix. After the hard-fought battle against the damn Covenant, thoughts of inactivity were simply frustrating to entertain - but now she leapt towards the door.

"Wait - you mean all of the Freelancers?" Michigan spoke, a frown creasing her forehead as she glanced between her colleagues.

F.I.L.S.S. seemed to sigh, as though the A.I. had hoped not to answer that particular question. "Alaska will not be attending," she said firmly. Her tone discouraged further questions.

What had Michigan expected her to say? South rolled her eyes. God, the red Freelancer was probably in a straitjacket by now. From what she'd heard, Alaska had completely flipped out during the 'Covenant vs. Freelancer' violence. Something about seeing the MOI attacked.

Whatever. They'd already known he was crazy, right? What was one more mental breakdown under Alaska's belt?

Slowly, the assembled Freelancers got up and shuffled out of the room. They all moved awkwardly, lacking just a little of their usual grace. Some were nursing bullet wounds; others only bruises. South knew she should count herself lucky to be amongst the latter group - but as it was, she felt only contempt curling her upper lip as she noticed their painful movements.

A hand came down on her shoulder, and South turned to glance at her brother. His lips were creased in a gentle smile, which she attempted to return. It felt like the copy was a lot more botched than the original - leaning more towards a smirk, really - but North seemed to appreciate the effort.

The group walked quickly through the metal-lined halls, without much conversation to break the silence. They were all too tired, or too battered, to suffer through small talk. Carolina was heading the crowd – as per usual – with York trotting oh-so-faithfully by her side. Christ, it was like a devoted puppy following its master.

South noticed, with no small flash of pride, that the twisting hallways were no longer the maze they had once been. Even if Carolina hadn't been leading them, she thought she could have found her own way there. As it was, the assembled group was soon standing right outside the door. Carolina raised a gloved hand, pushing against the heavy metal. The door swung wide, and they moved slowly into the classroom.

Classroom E offered a clear view over one of the many training rooms; South glanced down, wondering if there was a reason the Director had called them here in particular. But the room below was empty, and so she shrugged the thought aside. Tables and benches were arranged in semi-circular, tiered platforms. The Director and the Counselor waited in the centre of the room, deep in their own discussion and seemingly uninterested in their arrival.

South slid into a seat on the second row from the front, setting her helmet on the table before her. She crossed her arms, impatient, as North sat beside her. York and Carolina were a row in front, and her brother leaned forward to exchange a few quiet words with his friend before the… whatever this was… began. South settled back into her seat, glancing behind her to see who sat there. Michigan met her gaze evenly, without saying a word, and after a long moment South's lip curled in contempt. She flipped her blonde hair in dismissal, facing forward once more.

South caught her brother's gaze as she turned. He half-raised an eyebrow, glancing between the pair. Instantly defensive, South shot him a _'mind-your-own-business_' glare.

"Agents, please." The ever-calming, soft-spoken Counselor addressed them, finally. South broke her twin's gaze, leaning back and crossing her arms with a huff. The room had gone silent as the assembled Freelancers watched and waited for the man to continue.

But he didn't. Instead, the Director walked forward, slowly, with his hands clasped behind his back. Behind the grey glasses, his green eyes were bright and calculating. They ran over the Freelancers slowly, slightly narrowed in their inspection. It was a long minute before he spoke. "You are elite soldiers, the best of the best. Each of you, during your time within this program, has grown into the warriors I expected you to be. Now, I am fully aware that the clash with the Covenant" – several Agents flinched, while others nodded, smug – "was sudden, and unexpected. However, Project Freelancer held itself well. Despite some unforeseen complications" – South snickered quietly, wondering if Alaska's breakdown was classed as an 'unforeseen complication' – "you prevailed. Well done.

"However, I am also aware that it was a long and bloody fight." That received a few chuckles, and South heard York murmur; '_understatement_.' "You are only men and women. It would have been inhuman to demand any more from you. And yet, that is exactly what I plan to do. Battles like that will not be uncommonly faced. Even so, there may be occasions where, were you as you are, you would be unable to prevail." Well, what the fuck did _that _mean? South scowled, knowing that the Director's slippery way with words was flying right over her head, and hating it. Would it kill him to speak a little clearer? "As such, I have made the arrangements for each of you to receive a little equipment of your own to help… even the balance."

The Dakotas exchanged equally confused glances, South's irritation with her brother fading to the back of her mind. Similar interactions were flashing between most of the Freelancers, and the Director waited for the excitement to die down.

"But first, I must make sure you fully understand the requirements of these equipment – and the responsibilities you would have to undertake. Am I understood?"

"Yes, Sir," the Freelancers chorused.

The Director's curled in what could easily be mistaken for a small smile. His hands clasped automatically behind his back, and he rocked slightly onto his heels as the Southern drawl slipped easily from his lips. "Very well. There are three classes of equipment; A, B, and C.

"Class C is armour equipment at its most basic – easily deployed and easily controlled. Agents with equipment categorized under this Class may use it in relative safety, without a direct link to the command server.

"However," the Director paused, perhaps double-checking that he still commanded their full attention. South leant forward, eager, though her gaze flickered amongst the tables crowded behind the Counselor. Small, bulky boxes were organized on their surfaces. "Class B Equipment is slightly more dangerous. It may be used without being linked to the command server – although not for an extended period of time."

_Get on with it_, South wanted to call. Excitement was starting to build in her stomach, now that she knew why they had been called here. A triumphant smirk was slowly stretching her lips as she imagined the equipment she'd be gifted with – though, really, she had no idea what to expect. Which, of course, just excited her more. And to be honest, she really didn't care _how_ to use it – she could deal with those details later.

South fidgeted impatiently, her gloved fingers drumming against the table; a fact not missed by her twin brother. North brushed his hand against hers, a subtle '_calm down_' kind of gesture. An indignant huff of air rolled past her lips as she pulled her hand back, crossing her arms in front of her chest, and letting the flash of irritation show on her face.

The Director continued, not having noticed the short and wordless conversation between the two Dakotas. South glowered at the back of Carolina's fiery head, her former good mood faded.

"Armour Equipment of Class A is highly dangerous, and should only ever be used with a direct link to the command server. Attempting to use Class A equipment without the support of another operative system could be devastating… and is therefore ill advised."

The words were uttered with the Director's normal Southern drawl, but the ominous undercurrent beneath the simple sentences sent a wave of dread rolling down South's spine. She refused to shudder, instead jutting her jaw forward in a show of defiance. Whatever. The attempt at intimidation – or whatever the hell that was, South wasn't falling for it – fell on arrogantly deaf ears. South snorted, flicking her hair almost contemptuously out of her eyes. The Director's gaze lingered on her for a moment longer before moving on to the other Freelancers.

"Agent Carolina – please, come forward."

The redhead did so, her chin held high as she easily crossed the small distance. Green eyes shrewd, the Director nodded once before gesturing at the Counselor. The Project Freelancer official stepped back, retrieving one of the bulky boxes she'd noted earlier, and handed it to Carolina.

And so it began. South Dakota watched with narrowed eyes as, one by one, the Freelancers stepped up to take their new equipment. It was only as the Director summoned Virginia forward, that South realized he was moving down the ranks. Her lips spread in a breathless grin, her heart slamming against her ribcage as she watched Virginia reclaim her seat. Wyoming was next, the British sniper smirking at whatever label was attached to his equipment.

"Agent South Dakota."

She shoved past North, climbing easily to her feet. Her teeth were already flashing in a smirk as she accepted the armour equipment from the Counselor; knowing that it, whatever it was, would help her kick ass – and, keep climbing up the leaderboard.

South spun on her heel, throwing her shoulders back. Her gaze fell immediately on the bulky equipment, skimming through the label.

_Equipment Class A_, she read, triumphant – because obviously, the Director trusted her with more high-maintenance equipment. See? Trampling over Wyoming, Virginia, Pennsylvania, York – and hell, maybe even Carolina – to be top dog would be easy, right? She read on, her grey eyes following the curve of each letter: _Domed Energy Shield._

There was a brief explanation below – babbling on about some kind of barrier that would deflect most projectiles – and South devoured it hungrily. Her lips were already curling, as plans of how she could use the shield to her advantage in a fight already ran through her mind. A small design was imprinted on the hard metal, probably symbolizing the ability of the equipment; a figure in an almost comical superhero pose, with their fist on the ground, as a semi-circular line – the dome, she thought – stretched around them.

South was almost too distracted to notice when her brother sat back down beside her. She pulled her eyes away from the box in her hands, peering at her twin's equipment. _Domed Energy Shield_, it read.

Her face fell, the smirk disappearing as though North had wiped it away. The equipment in her hands suddenly weighed much more. "Oh," she said, eyebrows drawn together, ignoring the sharp and sudden pinch beneath her breastbone.

"Hey, we got the same one," North observed, comparing the two boxes. She nodded once, not trusting herself to speak without standing up and demanding what the hell this was. As if! God, wasn't it enough that they shared practically the same name? The same coloured armour?

Yet, now they had to have the same fucking armour equipment, too. Well, that was just fucking fantastic.

North seemed to notice how she had gone quiet. He bumped his shoulder against hers, offering a sure smile. "This is so cool," he grinned. Her twin's attention flipped back to the equipment, and she could see the borderline-nerdy excitement burning in his sickeningly adoring gaze. "How do you think it works?"

South was too busy to reply, staring without seeing at the identical boxes for the identical twins. Her ears seemed to have shorted out – the room's babble oddly far away. She swallowed once against the hard lump in her throat. God, she was sick of this. Didn't the Director realize the Dakotas weren't actually the same fucking person?

"It attaches to the back of your armour," Carolina interrupted, throwing the comment over her shoulder. What the fuck? She'd been listening to them?  
The weight behind her ribs dropped, falling to crash into her stomach. South bit back a snarl, ignoring the steady heat curling in her stomach. It pulsed in time with her heartbeat, seeming to knock painfully against her bones, and fueling the anger she felt swelling in her chest. As she leant forward though, her mouth opening to deliver a dark insult, she caught sight of Carolina's hands. They were cupped smoothly over not one, but _two_ boxes of equipment.

"What the _fuck_?" South snapped, the expletive falling all too easily from her lips. North imitated her pose, glancing over Carolina's shoulders. "How come you get two?"

"I don't know," Carolina replied evenly. Her gaze didn't meet South's, and the blonde felt something in her stomach snap and snarl at the injustice. "I just do."

"What, like you _just do_ get _two_ states, as well?" The face that her name was Carolina, and not North or South Carolina had not escaped the female twin when they'd first met. She straightened a little, glancing at the man in front of them before looking back to Carolina. "Looks like the Director's playing favourites."

Her last words had been delivered with a cruel snap, her eyes narrowed. Bright green met storming grey as Carolina finally turned, matching her glowering gaze. "I'm sorry, South, but do you have a problem with that?"

The female Dakota pursed her lips, not bothering to hide her contempt. York was looking all too awkward, and he seemed to shoot her brother a sympathetic look. North's answering sigh was almost too much for his twin. "I don't know, Carolina, should I?"

Carolina faced forward once more, clearly fighting the urge to roll her eyes or reply with a snappy retort. South let out a bitter bark of laughter. "Bitch," she muttered, under her breath.

North had probably heard her, but he elected to ignore it for the sake of more comfortable conversation. "York," he began, "what'd you get?"

"A healing unit." The tan Freelancer pulled a face. "I don't know why… I mean, Massa's the medic..."

South glanced at the green and brown Freelancer in question, whom seemed just as confused with her equipment – whatever it was. Instead of asking, though, she directed her question towards Carolina, her tone doing a poor job of concealing just how much she wanted to choke the aquamarine Freelancer.

"What's yours, Carolina? We're all _dying_ to hear what the number one's got up her sleeve."

Carolina also elected to ignore the way South was just begging for a fight. "A camouflage and speed unit," she replied smoothly.

"Huh," South said, before she could stop herself. "Well, that's exciting," she observed bluntly.

"Some of us don't need flashy abilities to come out on top in a fight," Carolina snapped in response. South would have grinned at her effort, if not for the fact that her comment had actually hit close to home.

"Whatever, Carolina," she snarled, unable to think of a response. _She's just jealous_, South's conscious offered feebly. She told it to shut the hell up.

"Agents, please." Instantly, the babble died down. Still fuming, South glared sullenly at the tables at the back of the room, avoiding the Director's – and her brother's – gaze. The tables were empty – what, no equipment for Alaska? South snorted at the thought. Ha! Like their resident psychopath was leaving his cage any time soon.

"Agent Carolina, if you would please make your way to the training room floor." The Director gestured towards his clearly-favourite-Freelancer, whom stood confidently. "I think a demonstration of your equipment is in order."

"Of course, Sir." Carolina swept out of the room, confidence oozing from her figure as she replaced her helmet. South watched her go with barely-veiled jealousy. _Of course, let's all watch the fucking favourite kick ass. Not like he hasn't made us do _that_ before._

At another word from the Director, the fifteen assembled Freelancers rose, and made their way to the glass window. For now, the training room was still empty. It wouldn't last long. South disappeared from her brother's side, instead choosing to stand between Georgia and Massa. The latter Freelancer glanced at her quizzically, before offering an uncertain smile. South returned it with a grimace.

South's purple and green helmet still dangled in her loose grip – now, she reached up and attached it to the rest of her suit. She shifted her weight to her left leg, clenching her hands around the windowsill. The other Freelancers made quiet conversation, waiting for the match to start, but none attempted to draw South into their small talk, her body language screaming; _Don't talk to me!_

With a sigh, South's chin dipped, her forehead coming to rest on the clear window; she kinda wished she could touch the cool glass. A migraine was beginning to pound between her temples. _Absolutely fucking perfect._


	78. Chapter 77: Of Two Minds: First Blood

**(A/N) Hey guys, time for another Phase One: Genesis update, going up a little early to make up for all the late updates last week, this one coming from the mind of our very own Warg! It will be a two-part chapter, as it was so long I didn't think you'd be able to take all that awesomeness at once! You all know what's coming up here, that's right, armour abilities. And it's going to be gooooood!**

**As before, we're still looking for writers for our Grifball fic, but doors will shut by the end of August, so get a move on. For those interested in RPing, our roleplaying forum is open to everyone, so if you're interested go on and check it out! We get a lot of traffic there, and it's a perfect place to start for people who are new to roleplaying, as well as those with experience!**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter Seventy-Seven - Of Two Minds: First Blood**

**Agent Georgia**

**Written by WargishBoromirFan**

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Warning for Church-level cursing and spoilers to "First Blood."

* * *

"_Give me a lever long enough and a fulcrum on which to place it and I shall move the world_." - Archimedes

* * *

"Agent Carolina, please report to the training room floor," F.I.L.S.S. called, although the top agent was already waiting at the doors, entering the gauntlet with the same ease and grace as she had on Georgia's first day. In some ways, this would be easier; nobody was due to fire at her for this session, at least.

"Start with just the chameleon circuit," the Director ordered, manipulating a switch on the new server. "F.I.L.S.S, if you would?" The previously plain white room began to pulse with colour like one of California's club lights, now a solid purple, now a mottled tan, now a mixed camo of greens and greys, now steel, now the colour of the sea under mottled shadow… And if Carolina's usual blueish-green aquamarine teal colour had been difficult for a man to put into words before, there just wasn't time to describe it before it changed, now. As fast as the environmental lightshow changed, her armour colour varied to keep up, matching pattern for pattern. "Let's be sure it works from all angles, now."

York let out a wolf whistle as Carolina turned around, and the upturned middle digit she shot him blended in as well as any other part of the armour against the rapidly changing background.

"Now hold that pattern through the next exercise," the Director called, and punched a few more commands into the server, and then F.I.L.S.S.'s serene tone filled the air.

"Basic speed trial with the server connection will begin in three… two…"

Carolina had always been fast. She could probably sprint the width of the training room in ten minutes, and it wasn't exactly the fishbowl it looked like from the observation deck down there. But this, even for Carolina, was flying. "Anybody get a radar on her?" North asked with a low whistle. "'Cause I've definitely been in speeding cars that went slower than that." South elbowed him, her gaze still locked on the window.

"Sixty kilometres an hour," the Counselor observed, marking it down on his data pad as Carolina backpedalled to a hard stop. If her black and steel-grey pattern had blurred at all, it appeared to be merely from speed, but she did tremble slightly as her hands made contact with the far wall and her feet finally came to a halt.

The salt-and-pepper goatee twitched as the Director filed this data away. "It will do for a first run. And when you are ready, Carolina, we will try something a little more engaging."

Out on the floor, the number one agent pulled herself together and into a salute. "Ready, sir!"

"Make your way through the obstacle course, at top speed. Be ready to change pattern on my mark." Once again the lighting in the training room went military cuttlefish disco, and the floor began erupting moving pillars as if it were escaping an earthquake in the depths of hell. Then the walls and ceiling started to move.

"Feel like I ought to have a background track for this, but I'm not sure I've got anything frantic enough," Cal muttered, his chin wedged between the glass and Mich's shoulder as they stared out at Carolina's progress.

She rocketed over one block of concrete smashing sideways, ducked beneath a plummeting pillar, and leaped a rising stalagmite, and turned at high velocity, changing her armour colour for every measured "Mark" piped over F.I.L.S.S.'s comm system. When the last pillar slid back into the ground, it took her a few steps to tame her momentum, but she was standing tall, and had ended with her original teal armour colour.

"Very good, Agent Carolina," the Counselor praised, mostly overriding the cheering coming from her fellow freelancers. While he remained one of the quieter observers, not even Penn could look on something like that and not enjoy himself, if only by imagining what he'd do with two enhancements. "While I wouldn't recommend using the speed unit outside of the server just yet, you certainly appear to have the basics of the two units down."

"Thank you, sir." Carolina saluted before she left the ring, clearing out for the rest of the Freelancers to test their skills.

"Agent Pennsylvania, you are scheduled next." The Counselor spoke just before F.I.L.S.S.'s call rang out over the intercom. The Director remained bent over the server as Penn left and Carolina returned, focused on getting it just right. Running into a wall at speeds associated with seat-belt and airbag-equipped motorized vehicles could certainly do some damage, but if the safeties on Penn's test failed, there'd probably be nothing left to find.

"How'd it feel down there? You looked amazing!" Massa asked, greeting her at the door to the classroom just before York. York had opened his mouth first, but no words had come out.

"Seems cliché to call it a rush," Carolina told her, appearing torn between collapsing into a seat and pacing off the adrenaline high as she passed through the knot of curious agents. Her eyes lingered on the abandoned chairs, but her legs kept her pace around the observation classroom. "But when you're hooked up to the server, everything just seems to slow down and make sense. You can process everything, like there's someone there to take care of it all and all you have to do is think of the command."

"Someone there?" Virginia repeated uncertainly.

"It's nothing I could really hear, but it just felt familiar, like someone supporting me, pushing me onwards… like when I was being watched over by my mother or dad, when I was really little - fuck, I'm rambling." Carolina put a hand to her depolarized visor to stop the outpour, putting on the brakes and dropping into a seat. "Don't read too much into it. The server helps."

"Hopefully it'll help Penn here, too," Florida said, turning to watch as the big Freelancer in blue prepared for his own testing. While each agent had gotten its own armour augmentation, Penn's stood out even among the rest. He hadn't been given two like the redhead at the top of the leaderboard, but Penn's teleportation unit, no matter how short-range, just dripped with possibility.

This could very well be the transport of the future - no need for ships or man-cannons or cars or armour, just where one wanted to be, one moved there. Where one didn't need to be, one phased out. Well, Georgia would always be a soft touch for certain old-fashioned methods, but this was just too exciting to ignore. His face was pressed into the glass as hard as it would go as Penn nodded to the man bent over the server.

"Two meters to your left, Agent Penn," the Director told him, the target location lighting up with a red circle. Penn activated his teleporter and faded from sight. Georgia flinched, but it was not because of the big man's disappearance. It was not even the countless immortal seconds that it took him to reappear on the circle. It was that scream.

Pennsylvania was a berserker; if he showed slightly more restraint than Alaska, Georgia, or Maine in a fight, it was only so that he could throw in more showmanship. This was a man who, when shot, had killed two men with his bare hands and crippled another before he was hauled away for surgery. Wyoming had said that he'd been all but laughing as he'd done so, blood streaming down his armour. In his match against Maine, the worst Georgia had heard Penn utter was a grunt of pain, like a normal man stubbing a toe in a doorjamb, followed by that roar of unstoppable fury. And Penn was screaming in pure agony.

It was almost a relief when it stopped as he disappeared, but it started right where it had left off as he came back into being on the target. That agonized cry only stopped for good as Pennsylvania ran out of breath, choking out a wounded moan as he stumbled within the circle. "Perhaps we should stop here, Director," the Counselor spoke mildly, cutting through the echoes of that horrible noise. "The server may need some fine-tuning."

Down on the training floor, Penn unsteadily examined his hands, tugging off his gauntlets as if unsure what he expected to find beneath. The Director looked up from the readouts to briefly lock gazes with his second-in-command before turning to the floor. "That will be enough for now, Agent Pennsylvania."

Penn didn't bother to retrieve his gloves. Maybe the transport of the future could wait a few more years.

"Agent York, you are up next." The man seated next to Carolina was hardly the only one to give the Director a sudden blank stare.

York caught himself, and attempted to shake it off with his usual smile, though his eyes remained a little too large and glassy. "Uh, are we sure everything's okay, there?"

Penn walked back into the classroom and tore off his helmet, gasping a lungful of air before shivering involuntarily, running his hands over his face and then pausing to stare at them again. "You look like you'd rather have my armour ability," York observed. There had been less cheering at Penn's entrance.

The Director's face, for instance, could turn melting sugar into frozen lemons. "You have a problem, Agent New York? It is time for your test."

"No, sir," York saluted, though he looked like he'd rather catch up with what had happened to Penn than go down there himself right now.

"Don't let me detain you." Those glasses looked solid blue from the reflection of the screen. York headed out of the classroom and down to the training room, helmet on tight. All well and good, until the giant turret rose from the floor.

Carolina cleared her throat. "Director," she said, putting just a little too much emphasis on the "d," a little too flat on the "i," like she'd considered calling him something else, "are you sure that this particular test is… scientifically objective?"

"Would you rather this experiment take place away from the dedicated command server and trained medical personnel? We must know the extents of all the enhancements, Agent Carolina." The Director emphasized her code name, his drawl so thick today that it made Georgia's native bluegrass twang sound positively nasal by comparison. Georgia had never pegged Leonard Church as a medical doctor, but you didn't get a PhD ignoring the scientific method, either. Agent Georgia, MSE, ought to know. But there were just times when objectivity just didn't lend itself to awesomeness, nor did safety, and this appeared to be one of those times, unfortunately or not for York.

"I really must protest this, Director," the Counselor spoke up, hardly looking any less rattled than the Freelancers, at least for him. "It does the project no good to put our own agents out of commission."

"Stand down, Counselor," the Director sighed. "It's all crowd-control shells. Mostly. I might have left a box or two of incendiary rounds down with the inventory, but F. .S. will be able to tell the difference, won't you, F.I.L.S.S?"

"Affirmative, Director." Both the A.I. and project leader were worryingly silent about what was to be done about that difference. Out on the floor, York had picked up Penn's abandoned gauntlets and positioned the bulletproof armour in strategic genetically important positions with a small whimper. Georgia was once again thankful for his own CQB helmet with less glass.

"Don't flinch, York. We don't want to skew the results." The Director had his attention on the testing floor as the turret spun into action. Most of the others looked away, eyes on the Director, each other, or Penn's helmet lying abandoned on the floor, for those who bothered to keep them open. Massa was biting her lip as she watched, and Penn was still staring into the spaces between particles. Nobody had bothered to ask if he was okay; it was kind of obvious. Florida offered him a chair, but the big man ignored it. Georgia found it easier to watch the barrels rotate and focus on trying to count rounds.

Damned nice gun, that one. She fired from six individual chambers leading to six individual barrels, ringed three times along their lengths with Teflon connectors, with an optional auto-loader cycling up from the man-size triple hinge-jointed base of the weapon. The turret itself could be swept around a horizontal radius separate from its base, or the whole thing could be raised, lowered, or moved around via the rings of rails holding it in place, the triple axis allowing the whole thing to slide around a globe like a fairground ride. The overall rate of fire wasn't precisely the six hundred sixty-six bullets a minute the first machine guns had been touted as possessing, but it was relatively slow for a modern automatic, making up the difference in larger calibre as those barrels spun on.

True to the Director's word, only a couple of rounds spat fire past ignition. When York finally dragged himself up from the floor, his armour was blackened, but mostly intact. Well, the downside of incendiaries was that they had next to no penetrating power, better for leaving a man running around in flames than putting him on the ground.

"Vitals are at sixty-one per cent and rising," Wyoming noted through his HUD. "Didn't kill him yet."

"Are we done, Director?" Carolina asked. She'd polarized her visor sometime between her last question and the five rounds rapid, green eyes hidden behind reflective glass.

The man addressed steepled his hands atop the new server, mouth twitching as he looked out over his handiwork on the training room floor. "For now, with him. There is much more else to be taken care of. Agent Virginia, you are up next."

The turret sank back into the floor, and Virginia let out a breath as she walked to the classroom door, her roommate and board leader shadowing her heels. "I believe I said Agent Virginia," the Director snapped without turning. "You will have your turn, Massachusetts."

"We're just going to help York off the field," Massa responded sweetly enough, raising a hand. "Trained medical personnel to better determine the enhancement's efficiency, right?"

"Agent Maine would better help you move him than Carolina," the Director shot back, but at least waved her through alongside Virginia. Carolina remained in the doorway, dropping her shoulders only long enough to turn to the big Freelancer in white and orange and jerk her head sideways in silent command. Maine silently glowered between her, Penn, the Director, and the Counselor, found his six-eleven death's head wasn't cutting it with any of them today, and trotted after the other ladies with a shrug at the upper heavens.

He returned shortly with Massa at his side and York draped over his shoulder. York sure didn't look good, but he at least raised his head when Maine walked through the door. "Nope, you did not want my armour ability today," he joked weakly as Maine set him down across a couple chairs at Massa's hovering directions.

"How you feeling, buddy? Did it work?" North asked, staying awkwardly just out of Carolina-glare range as Massa removed the scorched chest plate.

"I liked it better when my mom would just kiss my boo-boos to make 'em better. You up for it, fearless leader?" The limp Freelancer turned that puppy-dog stare on Carolina, and she patted somewhat awkwardly at his leg, unused to showing affection or unwilling to get in Massa and Maine's way.

"My mom used to tell me to rub some dirt on it and walk it off," she told him, almost covering for the Director's automatic response.

"_Tetanus_, Ali-" The bespectacled old man caught himself in the middle of a reflexive grumble and cleared his throat. "The enhancement already covers analgesia. Agent York will be fine."

The agent in question shot him a very painful look, though Georgia wasn't sure if that was more felt or being sent the Director's way. "Think I'll live, anyway." York pulled himself up to his elbows as Massa went to work on the back plate, leaving him in battered under-armour above the waist. "How's Penn?"

South waved her hand in front of the impassive face with its thousand-yard stare. "I think we broke him."

Maine shook his head. "Killed."

"What do you mean? Poor ol' Penn's had a rough go of it, but he's fit as ever was. He'll be all right once he's had some thinking time to get it all straight in that head," Florida attempted to reassured them, clapping a hand on the wide blue shoulder. Penn stumbled a step forward under the smaller Freelancer's attempt at solidarity, but made no other response.

"Check the vital records," Maine told him, propping York up for Massa and Carolina to examine, though York looked more in control of himself than Penn did.

"They flashed out for a tick, but only because he was out of view," Massa acknowledged. Maine stuck out his chin persistently, and she bent to pick up the fallen blue Mark VI helmet, accessing the last hour's vital information. "Oh dear lord…"

"Sure it's not just a hardware problem?" Georgia asked. He wasn't sure what exactly had put that expression on Massachusetts's face, but diagnostics he could handle, as long as it was just a matter of machinery.

"If by 'hardware,' you mean every cell in his body, then yes, the hardware crashed and rebooted itself." Hardware didn't reboot like software, but this seemed a bad time to get into semantics. It did sometimes crash.

"Penn? Pennsylvania? Anybody know his original name?" Cal muttered to the rest, but Penn was hardly the type to break that sort of protocol, when it had served him just as well up until now. "You still in there, dude? 'Cause we may still need you to pull a movie Rambo manoeuvre; nobody wants you to end up like Rambo in the book."

"There was a book?" South asked.

"Man, you guys had a deprived childhood," Cal said to himself as he continued around the catatonic giant. "Well, I guess Penn gets to start over from scratch, so we can be sure he's not ignorant of the classics. Happy new birthday, big guy."

If the laws of comedic timing had been enforced, now would have been a perfect time for Penn to mutter "son of a bitch," ream California out, or at least resume that soul-curdling scream. He just stood there, and reluctantly, most of the rest turned back to Virginia out on the floor or York on the chairs. At least York seemed to be on the mend, beat up, but more in a "just pissed off South during downtime" way rather than "just used for the Director's machine gun target practice."

Virginia's test, thank goodness, did not require her to go under fire with no way to fight back. She was going to have more trouble without her gun, but the sim troopers released into the ring after her couldn't see her even if she snuck into close-quarters range. Whereas Carolina's armour had merely blended in with the background, allowing her to mimic the coloration of anything she chose, Virginia's armour ability basically left her invisible, bending ninety per cent of the light around her to leave only a slight warp in the seen world to locate her presence. Georgia himself wouldn't have spotted her on his own, but Sota had been keeping a sharp eye on her since she had entered the facility, pointing out the ripple in the air as she snuck up on another wildly firing trooper and dropped him from behind.

"Please tell me her vitals look okay," Massa murmured hopefully to the tall, lanky agent in white after pronouncing York as good as he ever would be.

The Director's eyebrows cocked in smug reproof, but Carolina remained hovering over York and the most the Counselor offered was "Agent Virginia appears healthy and in control of her enhancement."

Virginia was certainly in control of the floor, ghosting from one trooper to the next like some horror film phantom. The remaining sim troopers had circled up, trigger fingers itching at every sound. "Al would be proud as punch to see her use that manoeuvre," Florida spoke up, still standing next to Penn as they watched.

Georgia wondered if their missing agent would have been able to see it any better than Penn if he were here. For a given value of "seeing," anyway. There was a noise on one side of the arena, then the other, a quiver in the air halfway between them, and the cornered sim troop went wild at it.

Then Virginia was on top of them. She dropped the cloak as she landed on one trooper feet to the head and struck out at two more, taking all three down before the fourth could do much more than turn around to find dark green armour where there had previously been his grey-armoured compatriots. He raised his pistol, elbows tight to his chest, and Virginia pulled back her right arm with casual deliberation. She disappeared from view just as her fist made contact with the trooper's skull. "You dropped your cloaking enhancement, Agent Virginia," the Counselor observed. "Was there a problem?"

"It's a bitch to see through the regular spectrum when it's on." The female Freelancer in dark green shimmered back into view in the middle of her moaning adversaries. Well, maybe in fact these guys hadn't stood any better of a chance than York, but at least they'd been given guns. And it was Virginia in there, not Penn or Cal and Sota in a particularly bad temper. Georgia had never seen her kill anyone barehanded. "Sir," she added belatedly. "Easier to stick the landing if I know where to hit."

"We shall have to work on that, agent." The Director typed in a few notes to the server before F.I.L.S.S. called Wyoming forth.

"Are we continuing the process of everyone who comes back upstairs strips off more than the last test subject?" Cal asked as Virginia made her way through the door to her roommate's celebratory hug. "Because while I'd approve of it this round, I vote we skip the next one and the next… four, five after him and dear god nobody wants to see Georgia's grease-monkey ass, but then," he slapped Minnesota on the shoulder and offered a cocky grin. "Ladies."

The nearest lady in question hit him in the stomach. "Oh, fuck you," South grumbled from her seat in the back, equidistant between her brother and Florida. "Though Mich might not take care of that if you keep that up. I'd rather see Georgia's," she muttered just loud enough to carry. Cal looked wounded, if unrepentant, under Michigan's flinty glare, the Director's goatee began twitching downward and inward again, and the Counselor cleared his throat in an effort to restrain the same eye-roll that Massa and Virginia had shared, but Georgia couldn't help but float just a little at the backhand.

"Is it working?" Wyoming called from the floor. Wait, when did have time to get all the way down there? He was standing in the middle of the training room floor, and surely Georgia hadn't been distracted that long since the Brit had walked by Virginia and out of the classroom.

"Try it again, set for a few minutes later." The Director, at least, didn't appear to think too much of Wyoming's speed.

"Righto." Wyoming snapped off a salute, and then momentarily disappeared, before walking in from the training room door. Georgia glanced back at the still unmoving Penn and flinched.

"Whenever you're ready, sir," Wyoming called up. All right, at least he didn't sound scarred for life.

"I want you to try -" The Director cut off as three more Mark VI armoured figures appeared, two in the same white as Wyoming and a third in cobalt blue.

"Oh, son of a bitch," the guy in blue muttered, aiming his sniper rifle just to the left of Wyoming's kneecap.

"Try that again, please," the Director said, clearing his throat.

"Whoops." The voice sounded like the man in blue out on the floor, but possessed a tinny echo to it, appearing to originate more from the new server than any intercom speakers.

"You take backward, I'll take forward," the man in white on Wyoming's left said, sounding as similar to their moustachioed sniper as they looked in that armour.

"Then once more?" Wyoming appeared to have discovered novel ways of talking to himself that made the people around him question their sanity.

"You'll figure it out." The one on the furthest left sidestepped the dust from the blue sniper's missed close-range shot. "Remind me to shoot this one later."

The other three figures disappeared as suddenly as they'd come, leaving one Wyoming from the centre, looking rather nonplussed. "Your armour advancement lets you jump through a very brief period in time, forwards or backwards," the Director said. "Currently." The Director ran a hand over the server's monitor with speculative care. "I want you to try a few minutes into the past, for now."

"Yes, sir." This time, Wyoming disappeared completely, only to reappear in more or less the same spot a breath later. "Well, that was just bloody odd," he summarized.

"I think we need to apply some more processor power to that one," the Director said.

"I would not recommend experimenting with this enhancement outside of the testing facility," the Counselor spoke, but his eyes weren't focused on the man down on the floor.

"Too right," Wyoming agreed as he headed up the stairs, but the Director didn't seem to notice South's call until she'd already made her way down.

When he finally shook himself off, his face betrayed no sign of what had been occupying him about Wyoming's test, but his accent seemed slightly lighter as he called one more out into the ring. It was a trained Midwestern cadence rather than a native one, but an affectation with years of practice behind it. "North Dakota, why don't you head on down as well? Your armour enhancements are meant to work in tandem." Both Carolina and Ark looked up at the voice, Carolina even dropping the polarization.

"Yes, sir," North said, rising without any visible sign of discontent or distress about his early assignment. "Wish us luck, guys," he added anyway. South did not appear quite so sanguine about her brother butting in on her chance to show off, but in Georgia's experience, elder brothers were known to do that, nearly as often as a younger sib might rain on one's parade. A man learned to cope with it, and then people accused him of "middle child syndrome." No wonder South fought her brother near as much as anyone else.

She was quicker with her bubble shield than he was, the two beehive-patterned barriers popping up with a white-gold tinge that the GT alumnus in Georgia had to admire. South started to charge at North without even being directed, but her shield did not move with her. South managed about a step and a half before the barrier flickered, and it was completely down by the time her shoulder hit the edge of her brother's.

"That's going to suck out in the field," the woman in purple armour muttered, tapping at North's still-solid tiles with a fist.

"They aren't ready to be used without the server, yet," the Counselor reminded her. "Firing anything within them… is not recommended."

North dropped his own shield and reached for his twin. "But come see what we can do with 'em." When he raised the shield once more, it covered South, as well.

South activated hers, first simply within North's to offer a double layer of protection, and then the inner bubble began to waver. At first Georgia was afraid that it had gotten out of her control, but South grabbed her twin's hand and pushed the initially shrinking barrier outwards. There was a crunching electrical feedback not unlike one amp dropped onto another from a fifth floor dorm as the two hard-light shields came into contact with one another, but as South's continued outwards, North's went with hers, enveloping half the training area.

The spent shells from Virginia's round clattered as the expanding shield forced them to the edges of the arena, and one or two of the rising pillars that had come loose at their bases from repeated incidents of Maine rattled beneath. In another blink, the shell had dropped again, but the Dakotas hadn't finished yet, shields flickering and moving as one ran to the edge of the other's barrier before yelling "switch!" and taking over, turning the unmovable fizzle South had complained of into a slow-building battering ram that hardly flickered more than Virginia's cloaking device. They might not be able to fire while under that bubble of hard light, but they might not have to.

"Good," the Director purred from his post on the server. "Very good."

"Now that was pretty awesome," Georgia agreed, pulling himself away from the window long enough to find his roommate before Arkansas's showing. Ark had been very quiet throughout the proceedings, keeping his mouth shut when Penn broke apart on the floor and when Virginia emerged from the shadows. "You think you can come up with something to top it?"

Ark just polarized his visor. "I'll find some way to make it shine," he said before heading out the door.


	79. Chapter 78: Of Two Minds: Sound Check

**(A/N) Okay guys, I'm going to keep this short and sweet cos this chapter is enough of a behemoth as it is! Sorry for the delay, just getting the opening chapters of Phase Two sent out, and multiple other things, which resulted in the late update. Sorry about that.**

**Quick bump that we're still looking for Grifball writers, and for people to take part in our roleplay forum. If interested in either, please message me as soon as possible.**

**Without further ado, enjoy!**

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**Chapter Seventy-Eight - Of Two Minds: Sound Check**

**Agent Georgia**

**Written by WargishBoromirFan**

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"_When things are put into conjunction in a way never before seen... Yes... That is when one can truly glimpse the mechanics of the universe! [...] We want to see the unexpected! The strange and terrible! A dream merely soothes, but our nightmares make us run!" -_ Agatha Heterodyne_, Girl Genius_

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The Counselor pulled a pair of dark wide-angle lenses from his pocket and the lighting in the training arena dimmed slightly as Arkansas entered the floor. The Director kept his eyes on the monitor, glasses once again reflecting blue. "All agents, please polarize your visors," the Counselor directed. Most of them did as they were told, if they hadn't already. Even York shrugged his helmet back on, under Carolina's supervision. Penn ran his hands over his face with numbed reflex, but when Florida attempted to hand him the dark blue Mark VI helmet, he pushed it violently away.

Then his face was filled with light. Georgia hadn't even turned to the observation window when Ark started his enhancement, but simply seeing the pupils of Penn's eyes suddenly shrink to pinpricks as the whole classroom burst into an even greater brightness made Georgia's mouth drop to the chin of his helmet. There hadn't been a boom to go with it yet, but Georgia knew enough physics to project supersonic explosives onto Ark's demonstration.

All Georgia heard by the time he'd turned back to the window was a faint crackle, more along the lines of firecrackers than a nuclear bomb. Slowly, his eyes adjusted and his heart went back to its usual tempo, as long as he didn't try to focus on Ark directly.

"Well, won't you be the event of the fifth," Wyoming said, shielding precious sniper vision behind his hand.

"Don'tcha mean the fourth?" Georgia asked.

"I think Ark could probably keep us in pyrotechnic displays from July Fourth through November Fifth," North compromised as he moved with them to the window, "with a special for May Day on the side."

"And you guys would go blind staring at all of it," South deadpanned from the back.

"Hey, it's important to recognize his flare techniques in case he has to signal us during a mission," her brother argued.

"Can't blame a man for wanting enlightenment," Cal added cheekily.

"Bunch of cavemen in space marine gear," South muttered, shaking her head at the lot of them.

Wyoming and Cal didn't even have to look at each other before grunting. "Fire good!"

"Not worth it," Virginia chuckled as Michigan twitched her fingers toward fists.

In the far corner, Florida still trying to protect his eyes with a raised hand, Penn slowly blinked.

Ark's flares went out all too soon, but it appeared that his suit hadn't caught on fire or overheated. He was sweating like an overworked horse and threw off his helmet as soon as he made it back up the stairs. "Whew, that thing almost killed my life support system, let alone the air conditioner. You guys may not want to stand downwind until I can hit the showers," he warned, fanning his face with the scout helmet. "How'd it look?"

Looking back on it, maybe Georgia should have at least depolarized his visor before lunging at him. "You are my best friend and the best roommate ever," he said as Ark instinctively swatted at the rib-condensing arms now wrapped around his shoulders. Georgia was no Maine, but California's jokes and the taller agents sometimes made people forget that Georgia might have been a five-ten geek, but he was an awfully strong jock of a geek. "You are going to let me try that sometime, right?" he asked as he backed off enough for Ark to steady himself.

"That bad, eh?" Arkansas ran a hand through his sweat-soaked hair, clasping Georgia's shoulder at arm's length.

"That badass," Cal corrected him, waltzing over to offer his own brand of congratulations. "You did cool, dude. I especially like how it brought the two of you close enough to admit you're pretty in pink feelings."

"His is pink; mine's coral," Ark protested. Yeah, by this point, one had to just go balls-out if one wanted anything resembling dignity. "It's closer to orange."

"You would know the difference." Cal crossed his arms, head tilted condescendingly. While he hadn't dropped the gold from his visor yet, either, Georgia could practically feel the devilish glint in those blue eyes.

"Hey, neither of us wanted to see Sota naked," Georgia pointed out.

Minnesota just put his hands to his face, fingers reaching for pressure points through the helmet. "Leave me out of this," he groaned.

Over by the server, the Director cleared his throat. "Agent Maine?"

A gloved hand snapped smartly to the EVA fishbowl before Maine casually lifted California and Georgia by the scruff and set them on opposite sides of the door. "Behave," he rumbled, before patting Ark over to Georgia's side with a light half-congratulatory, half-warning swat, as if he were making his way through overexcited puppies.

Maine had hardly reached the training room floor before they began to rise. Not the pillars, which had been retracted since Virginia's run-through, but something that had been left out of the landscape since York's disastrous demonstration. The turret was joined by its twin on the other side of the training arena, and then a third equidistant along the ring, and then a fourth. "Activate shields, Agent Maine," the Director told him, and in the next stuttered heartbeat the barrels began to spin to life.

Maine pulled up thick arms to cross before his chest out of reflex, chin tilting inwards and knees bent and braced for impact. The air around his armour flickered white as his Overshield deflected hit after hit, but this was a man who would never feel the difference between a friendly slap on the back and the bullet that could end his life, so he met them all with the same preparation.

"You have your targets," the Director spoke from above. "Take them down."

Maine had no weapons with him, only the shield that could flicker out any minute under the unrelenting barrage coming from all sides. He sped toward the turret in front of him, only for the whole set to begin circling him. So far it was just at floor level, but as the jointed base unfolded itself higher and higher to compensate for Maine's approach, Georgia knew it was only a matter of time before the yaw turned into a tilt. Rather than just wait for the next turret in sequence to rotate to him, Maine chased down the first gun to fire at his face, grasping it by the base and heaving.

There was a shriek of metal as the whole track temporarily went into retrograde orbit, the metal base twisting as F.I.L.S.S. tried to turn the gun to fire almost straight below itself and Maine yanked its left stabilizer in the opposite direction, briefly giving the turret a bowlegged appearance before the hinge finally snapped. The gun wobbled, then fell, bullets fountaining upwards before the flow trickled to a stop.

The other three guns had never slowed their fire, leaving Maine covered in a crackling - fading? - layer of white feedback from his moving shield. He picked up the fallen gun and hurled it at the next one headed his way, sending the working turret spinning around its axis, firing wildly. At least a couple of bullets had to have hit the other two sheerly out of volume, but they kept spitting away. The turret advancing on Maine rocked limply on its base, no longer fully manoeuvrable. Then it jammed. That was when the circle began to tilt.

Maine wobbled as the gap in the floor widened, the already abused rings groaning slightly beneath their uneven load rising above him. As soon as he caught his balance, he was off and running towards one side, heading for the edge of the ring where it had emerged from the floor. F.I.L.S.S. began to rotate the arch around the centre of the floor to keep it out of Maine's reach, but the further the one half of the ring got from him, the closer the other came.

Maine chased after the first side just long enough to get the rotation to speed up, then rapidly turned and caught the trailing edge. Once that metal ring was in his hands it was only a matter of time. Maine wasn't strong enough to completely warp the track, but it protested and slowed as he grabbed hold, and then began to rock drunkenly through the air as he made his way up the deadliest set of monkey-bars Georgia had ever seen.

The Overshield had to be fading now, and the remaining turrets still pumped out bullets. The only plus side for Maine was that the wildly swinging guide rail kept them from aiming. Even so, as Maine worked his way up the semicircle to the next turret, only occasionally able to touch a steadying foot to the ground, Georgia could hear the big man say more in two minutes than he'd likely spoken in a month: "_Fuckfuckfuckfuckingfuckfuck_…" The rapid-fire stream of muttered curses was somewhere between a snarl and a whimper, but Maine kept his helmet facing the nearest gun and swung circularly until his foot made contact. It kept firing, delivering a few shots directly to his foot. Even with stinger rounds, that would leave a mark. Maine lashed out again, delivering another wild kick, and the turret finally shut off, leaving one more.

The ring began to rotate on its vertical axis, bringing the last gun overhead and Maine towards the ground. If Georgia didn't know better, he would have suspected that the big guy actually let out a sigh of relief as his feet made firm contact with the ground, but it was probably just his Overshield coming back online. Maine let go of the ring, picked up the scrapped unhinged turret, and threw it directly at its final working mate. He dusted his hands as it, too, finally shut off, his projectile landing behind him, and the ring retreated into the floor.

Penn wasn't the only one left speechless as Maine limped back up the stairs.

"Agent Florida, please report to the training room floor," F.I.L.S.S. piped cheerily into the silence.

"Well, here goes," Florida saluted them chirpily. "Keep an eye on Penn for me, will you, Wyoming? And let's get our triumphant returning hero a chair."

"No need to ask," Wyoming reassured him. "I shall see him safely through. Not that Penn is one to let a little thing like being killed slow him down anyway, what?"

Penn almost seemed to shake his head at that, but he still wore the abstracted expression of a man who'd left his higher cognitive functions out on the training room floor, two meters from the target spot. Maine eyed him half-speculatively through that unchanging golden globe as he walked over to his seat, his step uneven but proud.

Out on the floor, Florida seemed a little less sure of himself as the tank rolled out into the arena, its cannon turning towards the small Freelancer in blue. Florida didn't have a shield or a healing unit. He wasn't even equipped with grenades. It was one thing for Maine to take down four turrets barehanded, but Florida was in his fifties. He was Georgia's height. He was in good shape for his age, but this was a man who fought by cunning and experience, not brute force. There was no chance the Scorpion had been loaded up with lockdown paint, was there?

"Just make your way to the opposite end of the training facility," the Director said over the speakers. Florida nodded to himself, and then took one step towards the tank. It fired, no way to miss.

By the time Georgia finally exhaled, the pillars had begun to rise unevenly throughout the arena, setting up an ever-changing tank-wide course. Seemed poor form to give the driver a test just because Florida's was cut short.

And yet, incredibly, in the shelter of a slowly drifting pillar, there was a crouched figure in dark blue. The Scorpion tank pressed onward, its barrel turning to the right and lowering toward the surprisingly still-living man, firing again. This time, Georgia was paying enough attention to see that the exhaust beneath Florida was not the same as the blowback from the shell. Instead of being completely blown away by the cannon fire, Florida was rocketing forward under his own power via a series of thrusters along his legs and torso. It didn't make for great balance or extended chases like Carolina's speed unit, but any escape was better than ending up at the bottom of that crater, no matter how awkward the landing.

Rolling to his feet with spryness that would do credit to a man half his age, Florida sprinted as fast as he could under the cannon's long black gaze. The Scorpion's main weapon had a hell of a lot more stopping power than any single turret, but its rate of fire was a joke. Just not a very funny one when it hit you. It wouldn't have to be dead-on hit to kill, just close enough to send a body flying like a rag doll with all the rest of the debris. And until Florida got a little more control over his thrusters, every takeoff looked to be his last. He was evading fire, tumbling his way from pillar to pillar for cover, but the turret was unloading rounds like APRs were the new aging benefits. There seemed no way to get far enough away from the tank to be out of range, so perhaps it should have been no surprise when Florida rocketed his way towards the tank, hitting the hull with a bang loud enough to definitely rattle the gunner's teeth.

The big turret turned helplessly downward and shook as Florida scrabbled for better purchase, both man and Scorpion floundering like a one-armed man with a scorpion clinging to his elbow. Despite the tank's attempts to fling him away by moving six directions at once, Florida held tight as a tick, kicking into footholds along the fenders. He might yet find a way to turn this challenge to his own advantage if he could get the operator out of the way.

Apparently the guy in the Scorpion had figured this as well. There was a brief, wild spray of pistol fire through the open hatch, which Florida kissed the metal to avoid, but the oldest Freelancer refused to be removed so easily. Then, once the handgun ran out, the gunner attempted to dislodge Florida with a grenade. Which bounced once or twice before rolling to the left rear corner made by the Scorpion's turret and chassis.

Even Georgia could tell the dude had not thought this plan all the way through.

When Florida next rocketed away from the tank, he had someone else to absorb the impact of his landing. He had hardly waited for the Scorpion to go up in the inevitable fireball before he was up and dragging its unfortunate gunner along, the Freelancer's arm thrown steadyingly about the kid's shoulder. The gunner was looking awfully sheepish by the time Florida walked him all the way to the far end of the stadium and encouraged him to get himself checked out by a medic, especially that throwing arm he'd landed on. After all, there was nothing saying that Florida had to take the sim trooper down, but nothing saying he'd had to play superhero so soon after his own recent bout with the bad end of a grenade.

When Massa reported downstairs, the Director at last looked away from the server and the floor, stepping out from behind his console. "Cut off all direct incoming communications, F.I.L.S.S. Mute everything from the floor." He came to stand directly in front of the largest standing man, staring upwards into those blank eyes. "Agent Pennsylvania, you will put on that helmet or you be of no further use to the program."

Penn blinked mechanically once more, a slight tensing in his jaw-line the closest Georgia had seen him come to a verbal response since his exit from the training arena. When North tried again to hand the towering brunet his much-abused helmet, Penn took it in both hands, eyes still on the Director. Turning it slowly between those big meat hooks, he raised it to face level and paused, just for a moment. "Best be ready, mate," Wyoming murmured in tentative encouragement, not willing to try to make contact when Penn's psyche was currently so much more fragile than his muscles. Penn twisted it, raising it slightly higher. With his eyes still locked on the Director, he slowly lowered the helmet into place.

"You should perhaps consider your own protection, Director," the Counselor spoke from back near the observation window. While he'd removed the polarized lenses, Georgia noted the faintest hint of neon orange about his ear canals - the sort of fashionable plugs newbies with more style sense than common sense used for hearing protection at the gun range and the more paranoid or aloof wore beneath their earmuffs to insure that they might not be able to hear in the middle of practice, but they'd certainly be able to hear you later once the shrapnel was removed. Georgia supposed there was nothing wrong with the little foam plugs… if one could ever get them to stay in an ear. That pill-rod shape was for sliding down one's throat, not stuffing up an ear canal.

"It is under control, Counselor," was all the Director offered him. "Agents, step away from the glass." Those glasses had turned straight to Georgia. "Send them in, F.I.L.S.S."

Out on the floor, Georgia could make out the sight of a lot of figures swarming in on Massa - he couldn't tell exactly how many from this angle, but everyone he could see appeared to be armed. "Whenever you are ready, Agent Massachusetts," the Director spoke into the one-way channel.

Massa seemed to nod once, despite the soldiers closing in on her, some of them even pulling out guns as she stood there without a weapon in sight, hands at her sides, and then the sound hit the glass. It cracked under the force of the shockwave. And the sound continued. This wasn't Penn's scream of mortal pain, or even fear - there was something joyous and defiant in that yell, an old rebel war-cry heard halfway 'round the world and translated by a land where all the non-dangerous animals were traditionally listed as "a few of the sheep." Even the Director flinched at that, and he'd been ready for it. As the echoes died down, Georgia risked a step closer to the spider-webbed window and checked the floor. Massa was the only one left standing, the grunts collapsed or flailing as they attempted to feel their abused ears.

"Whoo!" Massa sent one or two that had begun to root for their weapons straight back to the floor. "That was a rush!"

"You can shut it off now, Agent Massachusetts," the Director said through gritted teeth as the bulletproof glass fractured further. She nodded and waved sheepishly when she realized that no one in the immediate area was liable to hear her reply. "Someone get the sim troopers out of there."

Massa was heading for the stairs by the time the other medics arrived to drag the deafened troopers from the floor, but she looked back as she entered and not just to the broken glass. "I was - The enhancement worked great," the breathless glee in her voice deflated like an old balloon, "it really knocked them out."

"You're not going to get invited to karaoke parties anymore, with that set of pipes," California teased her. "Nobody else'll want to sing after you."

"Hey, now it's still more than worth it if you know any Blindslayer," York argued from his seat. While he was still pale in the patches showing through the damaged under-armour and remaining fairly quiet in the back corner, away from the best view of the action, even with Carolina electing herself his chief medical observer, York was still indomitably good-spirited. "You've got the perfect voice for heavy metal." Massa tried to resume her faltering smile, but it seemed to crack like the windows as the last of the simulation troopers were dragged off to the medical bay.

Georgia slapped her back as he headed out for his own experiment, though she still appeared preoccupied - out on the floor, she had been the untameable fury, but when the quiet set in, so did second thoughts.

Eh, it was nothing they couldn't fix.

"Agent Georgia, bring the turrets back on line," the Director's voice came through the speaker above as the engineer hit the arena, "and see what you can do about the viewing windows," he added as if in an afterthought. Georgia could still see a small figure in paler green up front through the cracked glass.

"You have any of those incendiary rounds left?" One ruined barrel still lay dented on the training room floor where Maine had ripped it from its moorings and twice used it as a projectile. The other three hung flaccidly in their positions, scraping against the gaps as they rose into the ring. Normally Georgia could spend hours fussing over just one of them as he went through the delicate process of repair and realignment, but there was a time for modifying a gun to its best capacities and there was a time to just get it shooting. This sounded like a shooting job.

"There's also double-sided insulation for the observation classroom windows." There was that slightly tinny voice again, as from Wyoming's demonstration. Georgia didn't know if the other agents could hear it up there, but it was such a balm to the cockles of one's exothermic heart to have someone follow helpfully right along one's train of thought. "Five centimetre thick titanium lining; I can have it up in approximately three minutes."

"Plenty of time to show off first," Georgia decided, lifting the stray turret back into position. As far as the position was still there. While the bowlegged base wouldn't be up for many turns and spins in its current state, it'd hold for a short burst on a fixed target. While most of the preliminary work could be accomplished with just a simple hammer, wrench, and welding torch, it hardly offered as interesting a show as breaking the guns had.

Well, no sense in holding back; Georgia was here to test out his enhancement, and he might as well start with a little overdrive on the torch. The butane flame popped up hot and blue beneath the slightest turn of his thumb from the travel-size welder, looking nearly as good as its more massive alternative hooked up to the gas line hung over the workbench.

While no one except possibly Ark - having been subject to an extended discourse or two on the importance of having a really good spot-welding bench set up in their room and rearing for action at three in the morning - would appreciate the difference as much as Georgia's smile as he flipped the flame around his fingers to get a better feel for its temperature, Georgia had to admit that he was impressed by his new toy. The turret melded back to its base like warm butter into dough, and a few good hits had both legs pointed more or less in the direction of the windows. He went on to tighten up the connections on the other three guns, getting them turned right and applying a little extra juice as he went along the belt feeders, making sure the breaches were unjammed.

"All right," he said, offering the loosest gun one last good hit. "Raise the blast shields and let's get this puppy rolling!" All right, so his test had been pretty low-key, so far. A good warm-up couldn't be rushed, when tensions were building up for a proper climax.

"Send them in, F.I.L.S.S." The doors opened, and there was no longer only one beat-up remainder of a flipped Scorpion for Georgia to move around. These babies might be taken out by a turret gun, but not just any old short, unsteady burst.

And they were heading for Georgia and his newly reassembled guns.

"I did try to give you a little extra lead time," the tinny Midwest voice added as the blast lining slid over the windows. "But hey, the turrets are at least marginally operational."

"It's all right," Georgia said, twisting the turret around its base to meet the first oncoming tank. "There's five of 'em. If we tease the tin cans a bit, we might be able to finish the windows before the rest of the gang misses the show." He grinned ferally as the first tank aimed straight at him. There was no running, only the turret in his hands and the enhancement coursing through his fingers. "Fire everything you got."

The Scorpion shell launched first, the turret spinning entirely too slowly into action. Georgia applied as much power as he dared, willing it to hurry up with the force of his gauntlets on the gun base and the chuckle bubbling up its way up to a whoop as the rounds met in the air.

He got knocked back on his ass from the force of it, but the turrets kept firing and at least the first tank was stopped dead in its tracks, forcing the others to spread out and attempt to serpentine to avoid any further direct fire. "Get 'em all going," Georgia directed the server, picking himself up and dodging fire. "Keep strafing from all sides. Actually, turn the eastern one on the windows and make sure it's pumping incendiaries. The guys're hollerin' 'cause they're missing the show."

He heard thumping against the barrier from the other side as he narrowed in on the closest turret to the window to add more power; he even half-suspected that Massa had used her augmentation on the observation deck when he heard his name being called from above. "'Sall right! I'll have these down in a jiffy!" he shouted back.

Another tank pushed past the three strafing turrets, attempting a clumsy pincher movement. If they could surround the fire-spitters, the Scorpions could flatten them. And Georgia, for that matter, but first that required catching him. While his enhancement didn't do too much for is speed like Carolina's or Florida's, he at least had more pickup than the tanks. The explosions weren't necessarily doing anything for his balance, either, but Georgia weaved and staggered and ran as fast as he could to keep the air filled with a net of protective covering fire. As long as those supercharged bullets took the Scorpion shells, Georgia wouldn't have to. Directly.

He did his best to keep the turrets turning, but fixed positions, even with a gun to every tank, wasn't going to wear them down fast enough. "All right, let off on the blast shield and let's start this carnival," he directed the enhancement server as he brought one gun to bear on the nearest tank's tread. The barrel was spinning so fast that he could feel the heat through his armour. Still, it was only a horizontal spin around the central shaft and one destroyed tread did not mean that it'd stop shooting. If Georgia really wanted these tanks down before they crushed him and the turrets under tread and shot the remains all to hell, he needed to have his guns moving more than the crippled Scorpion. "Can you spin this lazy Susan?"

"The turrets may not come with the tracks," the server warned him. They were pretty loose on their bases, still fragile in the rough welding job he'd kludged together.

"Eh, try it anyway." Worst that happened was that the blast shields came down to reveal him cursing at a busted turret, running after the base with what was left of the melting barrel as a tank ran him over, but as long as he died with a wrench in hand, embarrassing, but close enough.

The rings squealed as they turned, the mechanisms left without maintenance since their encounter with Maine. The southernmost turret wobbled threateningly as it led its shots at one of the three moving Scorpions, and Georgia ran to steady it. A little extra power had the barrels firing red and steady, crippling a second tank out of commission. Georgia grinned and risked a look up to the re-revealed viewing platform - the windows were streaked with bubbles and a few cracks lingered in the warped plexiglass, but he saw at least a few familiar forms distorted behind it.

He waved, and then got back to business. One well-aimed burst took out the cannon of the unmoving Scorpion, and that left him down to two. With the six barrels of the turret he'd been following around the longest starting to take on a distinctly saggy look, Georgia let that one go and concentrated his enhancement upon the next one in the series, twisting the gun one way and then the other as the two remaining tanks attempted to squeeze him between them. The abused metal didn't creak so much as scream, but it got the job done, leaving the Sim gunners running for their lives.

Blowing smoke from the barrels was like blowing out birthday candles. He resisted the urge to run around to all four with his helmet off. Barely.

"Well, they still need work, but I guess I oughta give Sota a turn out on the dance floor," Georgia said, patting the overworked turret fondly.

"That will do for now, Agent Georgia," the Director's drawl floated down from the speakers.

"Dude, I don't know exactly what you're compensating for, but damn, consider it compensated, o short nerd boy in pink," Cal saluted him as Georgia bounded up the stairs and into the classroom.

"Can't wait to see what you pull off, then," Arkansas shot back at California, waving over his roommate. "Have a seat, man."

Honestly, Georgia was too hyped up to sit down now, but he walked over towards Ark, anyway. He kind of understood where Carolina was coming from, when she'd said she'd felt like she could do anything while hooked into that server. "So how'd it look from up here?" he asked, his gaze bouncing around the room.

"You suck at windows," York told him honestly, "but we could see the guns blazing, anyway." There was just enough of a smile in his voice to push back any lingering guilt - he hadn't turned them on York, after all, and the man in tan'd be fine. Penn… well, Penn had gotten in a pretty good bang, at least, and was still standing, helmet on now. If his gaze was still focused on the nearest star across the other side of the ship, he at least seemed to respond to the Director.

"Agent Minnesota, you are prepared for your test?" Speaking of the man himself…

Sota saluted as he walked to the stairwell. "Let us see how much power Georgia left in those cannons," the Director spoke, leaning over the server monitor once more.

There should have been plenty; the barrels still glowed dully from rising heat as Sota walked into the ring. Sota appeared to give the Director a slight nod, but hardly waited for a go-ahead before applying his own armour ability to the nearest turret, not sure what they'd send in after him.

There was a crackling hiss as the gun powered down, drooping like a wilted snapdragon under Sota's hand. The base sagged and shuddered, its abused hinges sinking into a close. The turret across from it began to rise and turn with a creak, and Minnesota ran like mad for the nearest pock-holed tank, which would offer him stronger, if rather uneven, shielding and stood closer than any of the other turrets. Rather than just crouch behind it, which would offer the best protection, Sota hopped into the open cockpit, ducking down under the seat.

"What's he trying to do, hotwire it?" Georgia put a hand to the bubbled glass. "There ain't enough engine to start her up."

California, eager for his own upcoming demonstration, leaned against the doorframe in the rear of the classroom, though his gaze was as firmly fixed upon the scene out on the floor as Georgia's was. "You're telling me that you're giving up on a motor? I didn't think it'd been blown that far to hell."

"Needs some replacement parts, is all," Georgia qualified. Like the better half of a Scorpion. Still, he figured he could reassemble at least one or two tanks out of the six wrecks out on the floor.

"Apparently Sota didn't want to give it up, either," North said, leaning with his forearms over a chair-back. "Never thought the guy would have a gear-head streak."

Whatever Sota was doing beneath the dashboard, it certainly wasn't getting the busted tank moving under fire. There were a couple stray sparks, only audible over the gunfire if one knew what to listen for, and then the ruined Scorpion seemed to sink further into itself, inching backwards under the onslaught of the turret. When Sota dared raise anything above the line of fire, the first thing to come above the canopy was an open hand.

The electrical discharge was as random as a lightning storm, jumping from tank to dead turret to spent shell casing to another broken hull, not quite making it all the way to the spinning gun. Instead of thanking his lucky stars that the shockwave hadn't grounded via the semi-fluid meatsack it had originated around, Sota cursed and rolled out of the tank, running serpentine for the next available power source. He might make a gear-head proud, yet.

This time Sota didn't just stop at draining one gun and what was little was left in a tank. The second turret not only sank under his hand, but brought the entire ring to shuddering as he kept pulling at the power. The turret opposite from it, already in bad condition, never had a chance to turn on. The firing turret turned to strafe him as he ran, but the longer Sota knelt behind the stopped gun, drawing power from the base, the slower those six barrels turned, eventually rolling to a halting droop.

Then the lights in the arena flickered.

"Agent Minnesota has absorbed enough power to risk overloading his suit," F.I.L.S.S.'s voice piped in from the speakers. "I have taken the liberty of cutting off the electrical supply to the turret system before he drains enough power to compromise the ship's primary power lines."

This seemed to not only irritate Sota out on the floor, but Georgia could have sworn that he heard an irascible grumbling series of beeps and dial tones from the enhancement server as well. The Freelancer in white and grey ended his test with a quite spectacular release of the siphoned electricity - which completely overloaded the lights, sending bulbs shattering to the training grounds below.

"Agent California, please report to the training room floor," F.I.L.S.S. called serenely as Minnesota stomped up the staircase.

"Leave a little glory for the rest of us," Cal said, giving his roommate a friendly slap on the back as they passed. Sota grunted in acknowledgement, but waved the others away, not appearing to give much concern for anything but claiming a seat and staring at the broken lights above the training room unbendingly, accusatively.

"Good job out there," Florida offered, unfazed by the bitter silence Minnesota pulled around himself like an extra layer of white and grey armour.

The lanky younger man shrugged him off. "Could have done more," he muttered behind crossed arms.

Massa turned, her hand still on the bubbled glass, her eyes looking past Sota to the giant in dark blue still staring into the great beyond, all but deaf to the conversation around him. "We're just glad you can."

Out on the floor, Cal crunched his way through the dim glow of the emergency track lighting that lined the tops of the walls. It was made of tougher stuff than the overhead bulbs, but the wattage left a good deal to be desired, especially in the wake of Ark's test.

"Let's get this party started," California called out, though in truth, the training floor looked more like the aftermath of a really wild party than the start of one. In the weak reddish lighting, it was hard to see the walls rising through the mess until one could differentiate the clatter of spent shells, fragmented debris, and glass pushed out of the way from the background hum of Cal's pacing out on the floor and the other agents' uneven commentary above.

They were noticeable by the time the rumbling walls shot up to box California in.

"We will keep this relatively simple," the Director said, hands clasped behind his back. The Counselor, at least, relaxed his shoulders at that, but Mich was still holding herself entirely too still for as excited as she'd seemed about trying out her enhancement earlier. Wasn't like there had been a particular pattern to the difficulty curve; just because they might be taking it relatively easy on Cal didn't mean that her test would be any harder- or easier, for that matter. "Find your way out of the box, Agent California."

With that, a pillar from the ceiling dropped neatly into place, cutting off any direct view of Cal. It was hard to tell just how far down it had gone, but at least the only crunching Georgia had heard was more in the range of boots on broken glass, not bone or armor against concrete pillar. California might have gone down on a knee or two, but there wasn't enough room for him to have been shoved down any further than that.

"He'll be okay," Massa murmured, sounding as if she were trying to reassure herself as much as Michigan. "He's okay."

A white-clad fist emerged from the solid slab of concrete - not drilling, not even breaking through, just coming out of the rock as if it were no more than air. "Yeah, I'd say he's good," Virginia added as a leg followed.

Then Cal's foot went through the floor.

Cal stumbled forward, forcing his head out of the wall as quickly as possible and regaining his own solid state about the time his knee sank into the ground below him, holding his phased lower body up by his hands. "Shit," he muttered, tugging himself upward. The concrete threatened to come with his knee. Or vice versa.

"He has accomplished getting out of the box," Wyoming observed dryly.

"How am I even sinking?" Cal complained as he attempted to phase only his lower body and drag himself up by his hands. Swinging up into a roll, California tumbled to a stand, dusting off his armour with a vigour born of uncertainty as to whether or not his hands would pass through his knees. "Better try that again." With no urging from the Director, he headed back through the wall.

The pillar completing the closest side of the box lowered, offering those on the observation deck some view into California's progress. Once again, Cal started fist first, as if feeling out his way through solid matter. The pillar was too wide for him to touch the other side without sticking his helmet through, much less get his hand out of the wall without a step, so Cal took a visibly deep breath before plunging inwards, better controlling his balance this time as he kicked all the way through, phasing back to solid and more easily visible state starting with the foot landing on the ground. It stayed on the ground this time, instead of in it, but California was quick to work the rest of his body out of the wall, his exhale coming out in a shaky cough. "Okay, claustrophobia isn't my problem," he muttered to himself, studying the pillar he'd stepped through twice. "No such thing as too tight spaces when I can walk right out… As long as there's air on the other side…"

He still seemed very focused on his hands running along the walls when the Counselor called him up from the testing facilities, steadying himself with all the confidence of a drunk with vertigo.

"Not bad," Wyoming spoke from his position near Florida, well on the other side from Penn. "Though it certainly makes it harder to knock when one's hand is already through the door."

"Indeed," Cal muttered, the pull of his lips somewhere between sheepish grin and feral grimace. Mich put her hand on his arm, and it didn't sink through.

"Agent Michigan, please report to the training room floor," F.I.L.S.S. called out, and the little blonde Freelancer reluctantly released California's arm and headed down the stairs. Cal himself made his way over to Sota's seat, not appearing to expect any acknowledgement from the seated, staring man beyond a grunt as his fist made gentle but completely solid contact with the grey shoulder pauldron. Together, they watched as Mich walked to the centre of the floor, two sim troopers mirroring her entrance from the opposite end of the arena.

The enemy troopers lifted their weapons, and Mich sprinted off in two directions. Unlike the tank Florida had gone up against, this hardly consisted of flailing in place. Michigan had run off toward the west side of the arena at the same time she'd skittered east, two identical lavender-clad soldiers mirroring each other as the sim troopers paused in confusion.

"We sure she hasn't been playing around with your enhancement, Wyoming?" Virginia asked her fellow sniper. Out on the floor, the nonplussed troopers finally shot off an investigative round or eight and the east-side Mich vanished from view with a glitching flash, only to flicker back into view as Michigan split and serpentined again.

"That's all her hologram," the Brit replied, shaking his head. "Though it's high time she did something about those troopers if she wants to keep using it."

The two sim soldiers split up, one of them pursuing the image that had hung left and run towards the nearest wrecked tank; the other following the possible hologram that tailed it straight back the way she'd come. "At least she's managed to separate them for easy pickings," South observed from the back. "If she can't avoid one useless idiot with a pistol, the bottom of the board's the least of her worries."

"Oh ye of little faith," Cal muttered. "You want a bet on how quickly she takes them down or would you rather I kicked your ass here and now?"

"Agents," the Counselor cut in before South could rile Cal up enough to abandon his spot next to Sota in the front row, but North was headed her direction anyway.

One of the sim troopers out on the floor got a surprise when the hologram disappeared. The other got a surprise when it didn't. Mich had shaken her remaining pursuer for the moment, and took the breathing space to crouch behind a different tank. Or, from the trooper's point of view, two tanks at once.

The simulation soldier approached the closer of the two hidden figures cautiously, emptying the rest of her clip and reloading before coming into certain hitting range. The lavender-armoured figure flashed out of existence, and Michigan ran for the fallen Sim trooper's gun.

"Someone's been taking lessons from Sota," York murmured, and Virginia moved to stand a little closer to her roommate. Carolina's eyes narrowed beneath her visor, silent and judging as the Director. In the front row, Minnesota twitched beneath her gaze, tapping fingers against his leg, though his eyes remained on the arena below.

The hapless remaining Sim soldier spent another burst trying to drive the Freelancer away from her downed teammate and the free gun.

Once again, Mich vanished from sight, revealing her current most likely true location behind some shrapnel much closer to her opponent's current location. This time, as Michigan ran out, the Sim trooper concentrated her fire on the last place Mich had hidden, instead.

Big mistake.

"Not too bad," Carolina spoke from the back as Mich dusted off her hands and walked away from the second trooper she'd put into armour-lock in twenty minutes. "I'd say that at least some of these enhancements will prove useful, wouldn't you, sir?" she asked the still silent Director as Michigan made her way up the stairs.

The leader of Project Freelancer looked over the assembled agents and then back down at the monitor. "We shall see. All too soon, we shall see." He closed the program he'd been running during the tests and turned to dismiss them as Mich walked in.

"Today's tests have given us quite a bit of information to compile," the Counselor attempted to fill the silence. "But overall, your results look very promising. Just try to restrain any urges to use the enhancements outside of the proper parameters, especially those agents with Class A or B equipment." Which included Georgia's Overdrive, unfortunately. Who knew if the server would be available during downtime? "As long as protocol is followed, these enhancements should provide a lifesaving advantage in the field. You will get more practice with them soon enough. Dismissed." The Counselor turned and headed out of the observation room, and Georgia realized that he hadn't even seen the Director leave.

"Everyone is going to the med bay, now," Massa informed them, trading bullish stares with Maine. The seated giant stood as if to saunter over and prove that he needed no such visit, but his injured foot made a liar out of him and Massa offered him a braced arm to catch himself against. She nearly stumbled under his weight herself, but North was there at Maine's other side and Carolina and York were already headed that direction.

"Wouldn't hurt to get a regular old check-up," Florida added as balm against the biggest man's hurt pride - probably a worse injury than anything the turrets had inflicted. "Worst that happens is they give us some antibiotics and tell you to stay off that foot. Come on, Penn, let's get you looked at, too." He slapped a hand companionably to the still-dazed giant's elbow.

"Have a jelly baby." Wyoming held an open paper bag out to Penn, and slowly, mechanically, the big hand reached inside and pulled out a green one. "You'll feel better once you eat."

The helmet wasn't removed with nearly as much force this time, but Penn did inhale what looked like its entire volume in air once he'd stripped it off, eyes slowly coming to focus on the gummy sticking to his fingers. Then he popped it in his mouth, chewing like a ruminant in more than one sense of the term. "That was fucked up." The baritone was hoarse and quiet, but Penn finally seemed to have come back to himself.

"Indubitably." Bag in hand, Wyoming blinked out in front of their eyes. When Georgia blinked, stared at Penn, received a threateningly raised eyebrow for his trouble, blinked again, and looked away, he saw the British sniper further down the hall, discussing the new enhancements with Cal and Sota.

Georgia was gonna go eat something.


	80. Chapter 79: Dementia Immensus

**(A/N) Hey guys, time for another update, and this one is actually _on time!_ I know, shock of the century, right? Anyways, I'm sure you've all been wondering what had happened to Alaska after his breakdown during the Covenant attack, and here, my friends, is your answer. This chapter is a little short, especially compared to Warg's behemoth that came before this one, but I think you'll all enjoy this all the same. Also, just taking this opportunity to once more bring to people's attentions the fact that we're still looking for writers for our fic Grifball: Running Rampant. Please, don't be afraid to apply. We're a very supportive and easygoing collaboration, and we love when new writers join!**

**Also, another little promo image for you guys! -** **http:''thefreelancercollaboration,wikia,com'wiki'F ile:Mastery_Cube,jpg**

**(As before, just replace the ' with / and the , with . and remove the space).**

**Enjoy!**

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**Chapter Seventy-Nine – Dementia Immensus**

**Agent Alaska**

**Written by Avalanche Wolf**

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_"__Madness is like gravity. All you need is a little push."_ - The Joker

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"MOI!"

Alaska screamed as he sat up, a cold sweat covering him. He saw it again. He's been reliving it for the last three days. He saw Moi in his arms. Her auburn hair was soaked with blood, her eyes were lifeless. He sighed and leaned up against the wall.

He closed his eyes and rocked slowly. "The itsy bitsy spider climbed up the water spout. Up to the roof and began to climb on out. Caught a fly in his web, and bit right off his head, and the itsy bitsy spider, ate what now is dead." Something came through the slot of the door. His daily 'rations', if they could even be called that. He knew what the Director was doing. Trying to convince him that Moi never existed.

But he knew she did. After the Covenant attack, he woke up in this room, his armour gone along with his weapons. Just like on Haven. Alaska ate some of the food, but only some. He looked up and saw something. It was him. The elite who had killed Moi. His anger rushed to the surface and he screamed. He charged at the Elite and crashed to the ground.

He proceeded to punch the elite, pounding its face into a bloody pulp, beating it into the ground. He wanted the elite to die. Die horribly, in intense pain. Something like nobody ever felt before. His vision blurred. Nothing mattered to him. He wanted death. He stopped to examine his work. A large red stain marked where the elite's head used to exist.

No. Where was it? It was gone. The elite was there, Alaska knew it was there. He felt the blood on his hands. Wait. No. Elite's had blue blood, not red. He looked down at his hands, his fists were now covered with his own blood. The cuts on his knuckles seeped with the red liquid. He leaned against the wall and looked up at the ceiling. No doubt the Director was watching him right now.

Well, fuck him.

He closed his eyes and remembered all the moments he had with Moi. When they first met, her telling him about herself. When he hit her...when she died. The last thing she said to him. 'If this is how you wish to fall, may you feel bliss before you hit the bottom." He wanted her back. His mind was alone. Empty. He didn't like it. He needed Moi back.

He needed her back right _now!_

"Moi was nothing but an illusion, Alaska." Alaska turned to see him.

The Master, Zeus, the Director.

Alaska looked at him and then back down. "You think I don't know. Think I wouldn't notice. I can taste it. In the food. The water. Chlorpromazinec, lithium carbonate, olanzapine, thiothixene. You're altering me. Changing me."

"You are only partly correct, Agent Alaska. I am not trying to change you, but merely heal you. I want to rid you of your delusions," the Director responded crisply, his eyes betraying nothing, his posture showing only a quiet reserve.

"I have no delusions. If you are going to talk about it, at least use her name," Alaska spat grimly in return, his fists clenching, blood seeping through his fingers still.

"Alaska, Moi did not exist."

Alaska leapt to his feet and ran to the window where the Director looked at him. "She was real! She was no fucking illusion! I saw her, I held her. I watched as she fucking died in my arms! You will not disgrace her in my presence you self-righteous bastard!"

Alaska didn't know what was going through the Director's head, but he never flinched. Never moved. He walked over to a corner and sat down. The Director took his glasses off and wiped them. "There are many things in life that we hold on to dear. I watched as mine vanished before me. I had nothing. There is more that we can all offer, Darren. More than any of us know. Sometimes, the actions we take are what truly define us."

The Director returned his glasses to his eyes and walked away. "I will have a medic come and see to your hands." Alaska looked down at the floor, his eyes brimming with tears brought on by despair and frustration. The Director said he understood, but Alaska seriously doubted it. Moi was real to him. He wanted her back. He needed her back. She was his friend, someone close.

But what if the Director was right? No. No way. Moi was real. She was real to him, he knew in his heart she was real. The Director was trying to change him. He wouldn't let him.

He was so lost in thought that he barely noticed the door of his cell opening quietly. He looked up and his entire reality froze in front of him.

A woman stood at the door. She wore a white doctor's uniform, similar to the ones on the ship, but that's not what caused him to freeze. Her auburn hair was kept in a high ponytail, and her eyes had a certain silver glow to them. She smiled and spoke to him in a voice that soothed him. "Hello there, Agent Alaska. My name is Annabelle Rosewood. I'm a nurse on the ship. I'm here to patch up your hands."

She walked up to him and knelt down, moving as smoothly as water. She knelt down and took his hands into hers, placing them into her lap. Alaska couldn't help but comply, couldn't take his eyes off her. She mesmerized him. This woman was Moi. No, not Moi. Annabelle Rosewood. Medical nurse on the ship. But she looked just like her.

He looked down as she wrapped his hands in bandages. She placed them back at his side and he watched as she stood back up. "I'll be back in a couple of days to change your bandages. I'll see you then." She smiled and walked back out. Alaska looked down at his now hand-wrapped hands, raising them in front of him almost reverentially.

Moi was not here. No, she was. She was in the ship. Her heart was in the engine room. That was there Moi was. But her body was gone. But she was still here. Her body was just...wait. Her body. Her body was being used by someone else. That was it. Moi would come back in the engine room. She would be back in a few days. Alaska decided. That was his move. That is when he would bring Moi back.

He couldn't wait.


	81. Chapter 80: The Aftermath

**(A/N) Hey guys, time for your latest dose of Project Freelancer, coming to you, this week, from the mind of Ayane458, and the eyes of Agent Massachusetts, as we explore the results of the events of late, and how they've changed the group dynamic onboard the **_**Mother of Invention.**_

**Letting you all know that there's only a week left to apply if you want to join our team of writers for Grifball: Running Rampant, so if you're interested, it's time to get moving.**

**With that, I'll let you be. Enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter Eighty – The Aftermath**

**Agent Massachusetts**

**Ayane458**

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_"The strength of the team is each individual member. The strength of each member is the team." _― Phil Jackson

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Massa sat herself down with a nice cool bottle of water. The pilots' stash of beer had tempted her (she could pay them back, somehow) but the thought of having her senses and mind dulled, of being caught by surprise, unable to properly defend herself… well, the water had looked even better once those happy thoughts had taken root.

This rec room belonged to the pilots, and was largely empty at the moment. Massa and a few other Freelancers had been granted entrance by currying the pilots' favour, ensuring they were polite, respectful and appropriately impressed when the occasion called for it. The room itself was fairly small, but the tables, chairs and makeshift bar had made it feel more cosy than stifling. It also had a large, thick window that looked out to the stars, one of the few that remained after the Covenant attack. Massa had always been a bit jealous of it. It always seemed that the Director made sure that the Freelancers were never given any such luxury or comfort, always forcing them to be disciplined and controlled. Given recent events, Massa entirely understood the reasoning behind this. She couldn't entirely dismiss a bit of resentment, though.

Trying to push aside these thoughts _(it's never a good thing to hate your CO, remember)_ Massa focused on the stars outside and realised she'd seen more of the universe in these few months than she'd seen in her entire life. She'd been to Reach at around eight for some medal ceremony that her parents were involved in, and she'd gone with her dad to some resort planet a few years back, while she'd still been at uni. It had been right after her brother went MIA. It had more or less been a sorry gift from the UNSC: sorry, brave former ODST, for having to lose your son as well as your wife. Now that she thought about it, maybe her dad really did hate to have her here. She'd always assumed she'd be expected to carry on the military tradition. Yet, he'd lost half his family in the UNSC and permanently damaged his right leg in combat. If she didn't come home, what would he have left? A distant cousin living on a far-off colony?

Massa swallowed down the lump in her throat with some water. There was no point in thinking like that because the answer to the problem was simple. She'd come home.

Looking for something to distract herself with, she looked at the few people who she shared the room with. Four-Seven-Niner was there, but she was the only one Massa recognised. Strange, because Massa was certain she'd met all of the pilots before at some point.

_Oh_. The other three were new, replacements brought in after so many were lost during the Covenant attack. Massa would welcome them later, but right now she needed to be away from any reminders of what had happened.

Massa sighed, finished her water and left the room, snatching up her helmet as she went. Wandering the halls to see what she could see may leave her open to similar disturbing trains of thought, but at least she'd be doing something.

She stopped in her tracks as a dead end that hadn't been there before appeared in front of her; an area of the ship now locked off, in need of repairs. Massa turned back quickly.

She passed South Dakota, who could barely contain a smile upon seeing her. It wasn't a friendly one. She walked by trying (but not very hard) to contain a snicker, and Massa sighed as she realised the cause: South saw Massa as someone who she had beaten, a senior who she'd surpassed. All because of South's place on the board.

Massa frowned, wondering what South's reaction would be if anyone were to overtake her. Given her seemingly competitive nature, it was a real worry. South might berate and punish herself for failure like Carolina did, harming her performance even more which would only lead to her hurting herself more… or she might go after the perceived threat. Considering what she knew of the other Freelancer, the latter was more likely. Massa bit her lip. All that silly leaderboard had done so far was promote strife among the freelancers. Why the hell had the Director put it up? Acknowledging skill and talent was always a good thing, but doing so at the expense of others only ever brought…

_Why are you even_here_? You sure as hell aren't cut out for the army, kid._

_I… I just want to help…_

_How? Look at you, rich boy. Ever killed something before? I made my first kill when I was half your age. Big bull, coming right at me._

_Come off it, you did not. I know where you're from, Lance. You grew up on a damn_ banana plantation_, not a cattle ranch._

_Medic, hush. My point still stands._

_Not really._

Massa shook her head, exasperated at the memory. If her thoughts would go to what happened for the weeks after, her reaction would certainly be angrier. Exactly three months and five days after 'rich boy' had joined their squad, those memories brought only hatred. And the bloody sergeant hadn't even _done anything…_

…

Massa had found herself at eleventh out of 16, a place she thought respectable. She doubted many others agreed, seeing as she was the lowest of the original agents, except for…

Alaska.

Massa stopped and leaned against a wall, feeling suddenly ill. Alaska and Massa hadn't been the best of friends. She'd thought him strange, and he'd… well, she didn't think he thought much of her at all. But you know what? She'd liked him. She'd grown to consider him a friend, a real one, not just someone she'd been thrown together with because of this project. She remember him wishing her good luck as she'd left to complete her first test here, how he'd calmly bantered with her when they'd been captured. Now she didn't even know where he was.

"Hey?" a voice began hesitantly. Massa took her hands away from her eyes and looked up to find Arkansas warily gazing down at her. "You… okay?"

Massa suddenly realised that she'd been leaning against the wall, motionless, for about a minute. She hoped no one else had seen that.

"Yeah," she nodded, smiling lightly, reassuringly. "Just thinking."

Ark frowned, clearly seeing right through her attempt at light-heartedness and wondering whether he should pursue it. Massa hoped that he would not, but was glad for his concern. She understood he and Cal had had an… altercation at some point, and had been worried that he would exhibit similar violent tendencies to other freelancers or crew. Knowing that he was capable of caring calmed that fear down a bit.

In the end, he nodded and took a step back. Massa trailed her eyes over him briefly as she pushed off the wall, checking to see how badly he'd been injured in the battle. She didn't see much to worry about –a few bruises, much like her. He'd been thrown against the wall, she recalled.

"Maybe you should get some sleep," he suggested. Ark was being quite tentative, seeming unsure of the words as he said them. Massa grinned at him for trying.

"Too early for that," she shrugged the suggestion off, but tried to make it clear that she was grateful for his concern. "I'd wake up at some silly time like 3am. Much better to get my sleep back into a somewhat regular pattern." Massa let her smile drop a little bit. "How are you holding up?"

Ark considered it for a moment. "I'm holding up," he replied, and then walked off. Massa rolled her eyes before continuing down the corridor. She was certain there was a time when she'd have pursued such an answer. Now she just accepted that the grand majority of freelancers had _issues_ and had learned to deal with them in their own way. She trusted Ark to know his limits.

She'd wandered into the training area without really noticing, and took the time to peek through a few of the windows and see who was doing what. Anything to distract her from the incessant downward spiral of her thoughts. Maybe she should have broken into the pilots' stash of liqueur.

Carolina was taking York through a few hand-to-hand exercises. Massa nodded in approval that they were using the time that their love demanded they spend together in a practical way.

Mich and Florida seemed to be testing out and discussing the merits of various large weapons. Massa was grateful for Florida's presence. She had been concerned that the largely quiet girl would have trouble finding someone to talk to.

The next room down didn't have a closed door, and the sounds of yelling and a few loud bangs echoed out into the hallway. Looking in, Massa found Georgia and North, Georgia hobbling after North, chasing him around with his armour enhancement, trying to get his shield to go turbo, despite the Director's warning's against using their enhancements. Upon further inspection, she saw that Cal was also in the room loading up a paint rifle.

Massa stood in the doorway and watched for a bit. F.I.L.S.S. would occasionally remind the boys that a lot of the equipment they were messing around with was extremely expensive and to please be careful, and Georgia did lay off after she chimed in… for about five seconds, before redoubling his efforts.

North's dodging slammed to a halt as Cal fired, paint rounds hitting right next to North. This allowed Georgia to catch up to him and grab his arm, North activating his shield and Georgia's enhancement pushing it into overdrive.

"Continual use will likely damage both Agents' armour enhancements, even with regulation from the command server," F.I.L.S.S. warned. North from within his shield seemed a bit uncomfortable with this, but Massa could barely see through the hazy bubble and in any case Cal kept shooting and Georgia kept… overdriving.

"Agent Massachusetts, I would like to request that you intervene," FILSS continued, sounding a little affronted that the men (_boys_) hadn't listened to her complaint.

Georgia was apparently quite surprised with the revelation that Massa was present, leading him to jump apart from North as North attempted to shut down his shield. The bubble popped out of existence around them, but Cal was still firing, and in the end two Freelancers were on the ground covered in pink.

"Oh, shit!" Cal yelled through laughter. "F.I.L.S.S.? F.I.L.S.S., get a medic down here, will ya?"

"Seeing as you elected not to declare a training match, medics are not on hand at this time," F.I.L.S.S. said. While her voice remained as cheery as always, Massa couldn't help but think she was still feeling slighted at being ignored.

Massa considered leaving the three of them there –North and Georgia stuck to the floor, immobile and moaning, as Cal scurried around them freaking out –before deciding that they'd learnt their lesson.

Massa strode in, mostly unnoticed by Cal, who was attempting to drag Georgia out of his pink trap. Crouching next to the table that carried an assortment of simulation weapons, she slid open an easily missed cabinet and pulled out a few sprays. Satisfied, she shut the cabinet and made her way over to the boys.

Cal finally spotted her, and moved towards her immediately.

"Will _you_ call a medic?" he begged. Massa dismissed him with a frown and a wave.

"I _am_ a medic, idiot," she muttered, setting herself down between North and Georgia. They'd fallen so that it appeared they were holding hands. Now that Massa seemed to have the situation under control, Cal was _loving_ that.

"Oh, I wonder what South will think –you're breaking hearts here, North, didn't you _see_ the way weapons-bridge-girl was looking at you?" and so on and so forth.

Massa pointedly ignored him, instead using the small spray bottles she'd grabbed to dissolve the paint on Georgia and North and that on the floor surrounding them. She wasn't entirely sure what it was called exactly, nor what is was made of, as her introduction to it had occurred on her specific medics' orientation of the ship, where they showed where extra paint dissolver was stashed in a pinch.

As the paint finally disappeared and freed the two men, Georgia leaped to his feet, nearly knocking Massa over, and ripped off his helmet, taking several deep breaths. Once he settled down, he grinned maniacally. "Well, _my_enhancement works like a charm! Hey, North, reckon I could take a little look at yours? I bet I could make it more durable to mine, and–"

"_No_," North spat, sounding horrified at the very idea. He sat up, helmet off and rubbed his presumably aching head. Massa put a hand on his shoulder, concerned, and was relieved at the small smile he gave her in return. She looked back at Georgia to find a polite hand extended to help her to her feet.

"Thanks for that, ma'am," he said as she let him help her up. Massa was somewhat surprised at the display of manners, but that was the Freelancers for you, she decided. Everyone had _some_ little surprise waiting.

"I hope you learned a lesson from that," she said, addressing them all. "Preferably one about following protocol and declaring a training session even if you _are_ just dicking around. Also, one about not dicking around with the highly sensitive equipment."

"Or about closing the door so no one can surprise us and not putting a shield down while someone's firing at ya," Cal huffed, eyes narrowed good-naturedly at North and Massa.

North shrugged helplessly while Massa prepared some sort of comeback, when F.I.L.S.S.'s voice rang through the training centre.

"_All freelancers are to report to the briefing room immediately,_" she declared. The four freelancers glanced between each other before obeying.

As she entered the briefing room, Massa left the other three to their own devices and walked to Virginia's side. She noted the Director and Counselor at the front of the room, away from the assembled Freelancers, as Carolina hovered close behind. Massa looked around to ensure all freelancers were present before focusing on Virginia.

"Do you know what's going on?" she asked in a hushed tone. Virginia shook her head, eyes quickly glancing from the Director's back to meet Massa's.

"He hasn't said anything since we got here," Virginia murmured quietly. "He and the Counselor just keep talking."

Massa nodded, looking back to the front of the room to the console where their leaders stood. _All three of them,_ Massa thought suddenly as Carolina hesitantly approached the two men.

"He's found him," Penn said. Massa jumped damn near out of her skin, while Virginia just turned, eyes narrowing in confusion.

Instead of flying through a lecture on how rude it was to sneak up on someone, Massa forced herself to ask, "Found who?"

"Harper. The Insurrectionist Lieutenant."


End file.
